


All We Leave Behind Us

by Skyesurfer12



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 69,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: Three months in LA was not anything John Casey hoped for when he agreed to chase down the new Intersect. It went against the usual formula – in, kill, out – and one that he never had a problem with up until now. But this time, thanks to an unforeseen twist, he’s stuck here wearing Lederhosen and serving up corndogs as a cover, while protecting the most unlikely human canister ever to be stuffed with the government’s precious secrets when he’s off the clock. And it’s a nerd, of all things.Christmas Eve has sailed in, and things would have a tendency to get touchy-feely – if Casey let himself have a feeling. Instead, the holiday is the cue for him to do what he does best – without remorse, without sticky human emotions, and no one is going to tell him otherwise.Well, almost no one.





	1. Chapter 1

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter One

-x-

It only took one glance towards the parking lot in front of the Wienerlicious to see that Walker was coming in hot. Looked like the word had gotten out, and now on cue, the glass door was one good kick of her boot away from swinging open, and she’d waste no time busting his nuts for not –

“What are you even thinking?” Sarah said, adding a few bad words at the same time the door smacked against the back wall. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Two for one fried hotdogs on Christmas Eve. Eat up, Walker.” Casey tipped his chin towards the boiling vat of corndogs without looking up from the laptop where he was working. He had commandeered one of the diner’s tables, since there was no decent workstation at the fry joint, only an abundance of wiener grease. “See, now I told you.”

“You jerk.” Sarah’s grip tightened on her cell phone. “You know damn well that’s not what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re off wieners,” Casey said to his partner as she rounded the display rack of Wienerlicious Christmas Gift cards. Something for the most desperate of shoppers, he figured. “Except Larkin’s. That you’ll eat right up. How does treason taste, anyway?”

“I would say Christmas brings out the asshole in you, Casey, but it’s like any other day around here.”

Casey ignored the jibe, mostly because it didn’t offend him in the least. “ETA on Bartowski?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the Buy More. Since the report on the Taiwanese ambassador still had holes in it as big as Larkin’s ego before it was ready for the bureaucrats to review, he didn’t bother looking over.

“He’s locking up the cage and reviewing the customer log. Ten minutes.” Sarah checked the live video feed steaming on her phone just to make sure he hadn’t managed to get kidnapped in the past three minutes. “Plenty of time to tell me what the fuck you’re thinking.”

The words were precise and expressive from a woman who didn’t show much anger. Welcome to the dark side, CIA. Yeah, she was pissed, probably thinking he had missed a link in the chain of command, with Walker being lead agent and overall Bitch-in-Charge on this mission. Not his chain anymore, sister.

“Wanna do this, Walker? Fine. I need to brief you on a situation.” Now that their bosses had leaked the word to her, he might as well play her game. He should at least let Walker hear it from him.

“Brief me, Major,” Sarah snapped.

“And let’s do this fast, because the nerd will be barging in any minute.”

“You mean, Chuck. You know, your boyfriend?”

“Everyone forgets the word ‘cover.’” Casey pushed his chair back and stood, folded his arms over his chest, but not before he darted a look at the vat countdown timer. He didn’t want to add the stink of burned wieners to this conversation. Seeing they had another minute before the crispy-charred stage, he angled back around to eyeball her. Rain dripped off her hair and jacket, courtesy of the coldest Christmas on record in Southern California. Bleak and biting, they had called it on the news. Casey called it fit for wussies. “I’ve re –“

“Oh, stop right there, Casey!” Sarah threw her hand up in a sarcastic gesture. “Let me guess. You’ve requested a transfer out of here.” Raking her eyes over him from his laced ankle boots to his feathered Bavarian hat, she scoffed. “Looks like everything I heard about the Marines was a lie after all. They really do run home when the going gets tough. Does Momma Beckman have a new assignment that won’t let your feelings get in the way, John?”

Casey’s reply was to walk over to the deep fryer and get the wieners out of the hot oil. “I’ve been goaded by a hell of a lot more than the CIA,” he said. “So bring it on, Walker.”

She pushed some hair back from her face, apparently deeming the insult route futile. “How can you do this, Casey?” she asked. “How can you just leave when Chuck needs you in his life right now?” As she stepped closer to the counter, Walker let out a sigh. “We both do.”

Casey hooked the wire Fri-olator basket on its hanger to let the batch of dogs drain. After cleaning up a splatter, he walked up to the counter that separated them, preparing to face off with her. “That kid doesn’t need me in his life. Hell, Walker. We both know I’m his worst nightmare.”

“That’s not true.” Sarah leaned forward and placed her hands on the stainless counter. “He trusts you. Despite everything that’s happened, I think ... well, he actually likes you. God help him,” she added under her breath.

“You gotta face facts, Walker. I requested a transfer. Beckman accepted it.” Even though it took playing a few aces in his back pocket to get her to agree, she finally did. Rule two, after the Cardinal Rule, was this: a good spy always kept some leverage stashed away. “In less than two weeks, I can say good-bye to all of this,” and he motioned cynically between the cash register and the condiment station. “And say hello to a cave in an undisclosed location. Deep cover, so no calls out. Heaven, right there.”

“You have a twisted view of heaven,” Sarah muttered, watching as Casey wiped his hands on a dishcloth and came back around the counter to the dining area. “But you still haven’t told me the reason. Why on earth would you do this? Especially now?”

“Why?” Casey snorted and shook his head. “Have you gotten a good look at me, Walker? This get-up?”

Her blue eyes subjected him to a perusal. “Hard to miss a man your size in lederhosen and suspenders, so yes. I could say you ... know how to fill out a bun, Casey.”

Casey leaned those buns against the counter in case she got any ideas to get another look. “Lederhosen so damn snug I need a fucking crow bar to get my boxers off at night.”

“And I understand sales of vegan, organic wieners are way up among the housewives within a twenty mile radius of this franchise,” Sarah said as she pretended to look around for the source of magnetism to bring the diners inside when they both knew it was south of Casey’s broad back. Obviously, she found the unwanted attention to his buns damned amusing if the way she cocked her brow was any indication. “Seems like I’ve seen crowds every day hungry for wiener. Management must be proud of you.”

“Meat lovers all the way, bitch,” Casey muttered back at her. “And look at these socks, for Christ sakes. They go up to my goddamn knees.”

“Mmm.” Sarah’s eyes wandered down and back up again. “I never knew you had such slender, shapely calves until we stuffed you in Bavarian britches. The green shirt and khakis would’ve been wasted on you.”

“Torture, Walker? If you wanted to see it, try waterboarding. I hear you spooks have the market cornered on that technique.”

Sarah lifted her eyes to really stare at him. Gone was her momentary jollity. Instead, the woman looked like a very pale, very serious operative. “I’m sorry this operation didn’t go the way you planned, Major.” She didn’t sound sorry. The bitch was trying to make a point about her team going pear-shaped, like he needed a lesson from the Spooks in White. “No one knew until we arrived on the scene that the roles would need to be ... unconventional.”

“Unconventional,” Casey repeated and he lobbed a glare that usually sent seasoned spies back a step. “I’m a Major in the US Marine Corps. I was flying fighter jets when you were worrying about boys seeing your training bra through your t-shirt. I’ve lead more missions than you’ve had one night stands, and knowing your CIA tactics, that’s saying something.”

Sarah’s face hardened and she sauntered in a few steps. He did have to begrudgingly admire her for that. “What happened to you after Halloween? You were going to stick it out, weren’t you? Chuck was happy, actually happy, with the way things were going between you. And you seemed to accept that your role here was to –“

“Wear skin-tight pants and cozy up to a man-boy-geek?”

There was no other way to put a happy-ass spin on that. As soon as it was confirmed that the mark had a taste for a different kind of wiener, well, the shit blew off the mission. By the time Casey reported for work on the second day at the Buy More, the green shirt was ripped from his back, he was stuffed in obscenely short pants and slapped with a curly-headed nerd of a boyfriend. Never in hell did he think he’d have one of those. It was all for the cover, of course, they told him. To stay close, to keep the kid safe.

And since he’d be busy playing patty-cake with the new Intersect, a completely helpless civilian needing round-the-clock babysitting, Walker was immediately designated the lead operative, which sat in his craw just as hard. When he thought the mission couldn’t get worse, now he was going to have a woman telling him what the hell to do. He would’ve gotten married if he wanted that kind of yoke around his neck. Poor slobs.

“Answer the question, Major,” Sarah ordered.

“Need to spell it out, Walker? Or weren’t you paying attention once Larkin breezed back into town?” When she didn’t blink, Casey rolled his eyes and picked up an empty ketchup bottle. Might as well be productive if he was going to have this talkfest. “We both know the kid seemed to get an appetite for hard salami.”

“You should’ve done something as soon as Lou moved in to your territory. Not like you, Major, to let a foreign operative take over your turf.”

“Hell, you saw the sandwich maker,” Casey argued. “Chuck has a weakness for brunettes, and this guy seemed to push every button –“

“Your buttons, Casey,” Sarah pointed out, handing him a half-empty ketchup bottle without looking at it. “You should’ve been pushing them, for God sakes. It’s what Chuck is begging for!”

Casey grabbed the bottle from her and began combining it with another half empty. Why the fuck couldn’t people just finish one first without starting a new one? “The kid doesn’t do big and scary, Walker. Why do I have to explain this to you? He needs cute, like that ... damn sandwich maker – that guy is flirty, smart –”

“As opposed to you being smart, funny – in your own way – and a challenge,” and Sarah leaned in close, this time speaking lower, “He’s Chuck Bartowski. He likes a challenge. And no matter how much you want to deny it, he likes you. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not even paying attention. You’re what he wants.”

Casey scowled down at her for a second. When he squirted the bottle, it made an unholy sound, which seemed fitting for that remark. “I don’t belong here. I belong out there.” He nodded towards the doorway to the dusky parking lot. “I take care of problems no one else wants to know about. I break things that need to be busted up. That’s my job, Walker. Handling the dangerous things so that these morons can go through life buying big screen TVs and hot dogs.”

“But you’ve never faced anything as dangerous as Chuck Bartowski, have you?” Sarah asked, resting a hip on the condiment station. “As dangerous as finding out you actually care what happens to him?”

“Are you smoking something other than Larkin’s cigar?” Casey growled, snatching a mustard bottle next. Some imbecile had let mustard ooze down the side of it, so he snatched a napkin out of the holder to wipe his hands. “That kid’s as dangerous as a three-legged kitten tied up in a gunny sack.”

Sarah handed him another napkin, but instead of backing off, she kept her gaze steady on his face. “Denial. How achingly typical of you. You won’t admit it, but that’s the reason, isn’t it?”

“Pass me the onions.” When she did, Casey put the lid on them and began lining up the containers that would need to get stored in the refrigerator overnight. “Know what’s not a surprise? A woman reading too much into a situation. This is about me, Walker. Why don’t you get that? It’s simple. I requested a transfer. It was accepted.” He took one final look at the condiment station, picked up the plastic jugs, paused to squint at her. “I’m bugging out.”

“So that’s it – feelings get in the way, and you run?”

“The only feeling I have is the itch in my trigger finger,” Casey said, and he couldn’t help but just smirk at her, “which will be scratched when I get to my new assignment. Location is outside your paygrade, so don’t wait for a postcard.”

“Because you need more gunplay. You expect me to believe that?” Sarah just shook her head. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve been able to get in enough time with your favorite playthings in the past few weeks to make any neurotic soldier happy. Even a few kill shots. So that right there should’ve really brightened your day, Casey.”

“If you’re about done here, Walker,” Casey said, returning from the refrigerator, “I’ve got a grease vat to clean.”

“You owe me more than that, Agent,” Sarah demanded and put her hands on her hips. If she was trying to appear intimidating, the puckered green polo shirt and khakis really completed the look. Heh. “What the hell happened after Halloween?”

“That was Halloween. Turns out I do scary a hell of a lot better than family bonding crap.” Casey grunted, and picking up a mesh strainer, began to scoop up stray corndog dough out of the grease. Leaving them there until morning stunk the place up more than it already did. “Who knew, eh?”

“When did you decide?” Sarah asked.

Casey tossed the strainer in the sink behind the counter and angled back around, meeting her eyes squarely. “Thanksgiving.”

“Bryce,” she said.

“Irreparable harm, Walker,” Casey corrected through gritted teeth. “It didn’t sit so well with the geek when he found out I was the one that got to plug Bryce Larkin the night he blew up the original Intersect. I guess that was another bang-up job by the CIA analysts. Nice way to find out about the college crush and torrid little affair the new Intersect had on the slimy, little traitor.”

“As it ended up, or maybe you’ve chosen to forget, Bryce is not a traitor.” Sarah’s look finished the sentence: get off the Bryce excuse. “And it had to make you happy to know that Chuck still has a healthy dislike of his ex-best friend.”

Casey shrugged, because yeah, he had to respect the kid for that. Amused the piss out of him actually. “It’s done,” he said as he walked over to the door to flip the electronic LED sign to Closed. Two minutes early, so sue him. “First week of January, I get to leave this shithole behind. Too bad. I’ll miss the knickers and the yoga-pants wearing mamas sashaying through here.”

“You can’t do this. It puts Chuck in too much danger.”

“He’ll have you to protect him – and my replacement is being vetted as we speak.”

“We already know Fulcrum has infiltrated the agency. What if the new team member can’t be trusted?”

“Let Beckman do her job. She’ll pick the right man.”

“Chuck’s going to miss you,” Sarah argued.

“Bullshit,” Casey said, opening the cash register to start counting out the bills. “Keep in mind, Chuck doesn’t find out until it happens. Orders higher than yours, Walker. The bigwigs don’t want the news of my departure messing with the Intersect. With Fulcrum getting closer, the nerd needs –”

“You,” Sarah broke in adamantly. Instantly, she moved to stand directly in front of him, her expression absolutely grim. “You are what he needs.”

“To keep it between the lines, Walker,” Casey told her. “The kid gets jittery when things around him change.”

“If you know that, then why, John?” Sarah put her hand over the cash drawer to get him to look up. “Why the hell do you insist on doing this?”

“I’m not what that kid needs,” Casey told her, ignoring the discomfort that made him want to shove her out the door and lock up for the night in peace. Instead, he slid the ridiculous Alpine hat off his head and gave it a toss onto one of the tables. His hair was flattened down by the dreaded green and feathered piece of felt, so he took a second to drag his hand through the ends. “He needs a reality check. Chuck is still under the naïve impression that the less things change for him the more they’ll stay close to ‘normal’. The first order of business for my replacement – once he kisses up to the nerd, gets him cozy in the sack and compliant – is to teach him that his life is never going to be normal again.”

“Casey, how can you just stand there and say everything is going to be fine? Just last night, when you dropped him off, Chuck told you again he would’ve never made it out of the Buy More alive at Thanksgiving without you.” Sarah moved into his line of sight again. Her eyes dared him to look away. “Tommy, Fulcrum .... You were the one who saved him.”

“Bryce did.”

“You carried him out of harm’s way.”

“What can I say? The kid’s portable and doesn’t put up much of a fight. Pass me the coin bag.”

“What is it going to take to get you to stay? If you leave, he’s going to be ... heartbroken.”

Casey felt guilt slide a nice little dagger between his ribs. It did confirm Walker was listening in to their conversations when Chuck awkwardly tried to tell Casey how he felt, which only solidified Casey’s decision to vanish. He didn’t need that kind of surveillance up his ass. “He’ll be better off.” Without bothering to explain anymore, Casey slammed the cash drawer shut and held up a hand before she could get in another question. “If you’re done here, I have to finish this up so that I can –”

“Casey, listen to me –” she started, but a tapping on the glass made them glance over sharply at the door.

When Casey swung around, he could see Chuck standing on the other side of the large pane, motioning that the door was locked. As if Casey didn’t know he had just locked it when he flipped the sign for this very reason? The last thing he needed was for the Human Intersect to come bouncing in on a Christmas Eve Red Bull high and inadvertently get a piece of news that might leave a turd in his pumpkin pie.

Shooting a warning look at Walker to can the inquisition, Casey walked over to the Wienerlicious’ door and turned the deadbolt. Normally, being locked out would earn both of them a nerdy, suspicious side eye, but the kid was coming off a sixteen-hour shift and now freed for the holiday, so he was lighter in his Chuck’s than usual.

“So. Christmas Eve,” Chuck drawled. After a moment, he ambled in slowly, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Isn’t this where we forget the spy stuff and have a little – oh, I don’t know – fun?” He was looking point blank at Casey. “I mean, the mission was a success, right guys? Lon Kirk is on his way to jail, or wherever you kids put philanthropists to the Taiwanese nationals who smuggle counterfeit dollars out of the country, and my good buddy did not get blown to the sky by a GPS-guided bomb.”

“No, but my Porsche can now fit in a tin can,” Sarah noted dryly.

Casey choked on a snort and ended up covering it with a polite cough. Best damn part of the mission was taking out Walker’s beloved baby, and he was thankful he had stuck around long enough to see that spectacle at the marina.

“Um, about that.” Chuck smoothed a hand down his tie, something Casey had seen him do dozens of times when the kid was uncomfortable, and turned to his coworker. “Sarah, have I said how sorry I was about that?”

“No, but you will. Forty thousand times, at least, if we go by Blue Book value.”

“You do know that would take me years to pay back,” Chuck pointed out, slanting a look at Casey for support. Why the hell did he always do that?

“Leave your car out of this, Walker,” Casey grumbled at her. When Sarah strolled closer to the Intersect, Casey elbowed in between them. “German piece of shit anyway. We all know the kid had about fifteen seconds to make a decision. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good.” And fuck, he had to bite down on his lip not to smirk at her since it was her precious car that bit it this time. “So what. Get over it.”

Sarah stood frozen in front of him, silently fuming, while Chuck backed up a few steps. “Again, sorry.” The kid mustered up a weak smile. “But ... what he said, Sarah.”

The blonde mumbled something. If it sounded anything at all like ‘Great. Now the boyfriends stick together,’ Casey figured it was a slam at him considering what she had just learned from the higher ups. Deeming Chuck’s penance over, however, she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and surveyed them intently with pursed lips. Casey didn’t like that look.

“Chuck, when we were in the breakroom earlier,” Sarah said, “you mentioned that you needed to ask Casey something. Time is running out, so you might as well do it now.”

Chuck shot Sarah a betrayed look. Sarah caught the expression and merely inclined her head at him.

“Fine, okay. Um, listen, Casey,” the kid began to stammer, using the fingers of one hand to pull on his own thumb, “you see, there’s this thing we need to talk about.”

“Thing?” Sensing this could drag out, Casey swiped a napkin container from one of the tables to refill it. “What thing, Bartowski?”

Chuck abruptly stopped pulling on his finger and instead began idly moving a salt shaker over the table top. “Well, a family thing. A Christmas thing, actually.”

“I don’t do Christmas,” Casey replied, stuffing a stack inside the napkin dispenser. They never fit correctly – must’ve been made in China – so it did take some jamming to get them in the slot. “Pass me the empty sugar packet dispenser.”

Chuck blinked. “Wait. Did you just say you don’t do Christmas?” He only seemed fazed for a few seconds, though, before the blank look was replaced by his wide-eyed curiosity every time he thought he found out something real about his handler/fake boyfriend. “No, no, no, Mr. Superspy. I don’t believe it for a minute. Underneath that crusty and frankly, well, terrifying exterior, I suspect there’s a guy who can let go and enjoy at least one day of the year. Without, you know, being a badass?”

“No,” Casey said. Not looking up, he began to shove the metal lid on the gloppy cornbread mixture behind the counter. Otherwise, it attracted flies.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“Does no mean something else in nerd?”

“But how can you say no to Christmas at the Bartowski’s?”

“Just did,” Casey replied briskly. He tossed the gooey tongs in a sink and turned the faucet on. “Walker, if you’re just going to stand there staring, get a lid on the sauerkraut, will you?”

“Hang on.” Chuck stepped up to the stainless steel counter and put his hands up. “Ellie invited you to dinner,” he said. “And, I know things have been a bit awkward lately, but – aren’t you supposed to be my boyfriend in this scenario? So wouldn’t that mean by default – for the cover – you’ll be spending Christmas with me?”

“Nope.” Casey wiped up a spill with a dishrag. When he noticed the nerd gaping, he gave the kid a shrug. “Don’t you two have a Buy More party to go to?”

“Really? “ Chuck shuffled forward, flicking his eyes pleadingly to Sarah, so obviously they had discussed this. “Just like that?”

“It works for me.” Casey didn’t bother looking over at the blonde, but no doubt her body tensed the way it did when she prepared to reprimand him for a lousy cover job. Well, suck it, Walker. Casey didn’t ask for a nerdy, too-tall boyfriend for Christmas or any other time.

Chuck, on the other hand, still had his jaw hanging open. “Can you tell me what you have against PJs by the fire, a Twilight Zone marathon, and prime rib with Ellie’s horseradish stilton sauce?” he asked. “Morgan invites himself just for that!”

“Morgan?” Casey stopped working to cross his arms in front of his chest. “Thanks for confirming that I don’t want to be there.”

“Come on, big guy, I thought I just heard you say you don’t do Christmas. Seriously? How bad could it have been at the Casey house?”

“Christmas at the Caseys included a clay pigeon contest, my Aunt Nellie insisting we stop and get a bucket of the Colonel’s finest, and my dad lining up all of us cousins by age out behind the barn.”

“Uh, I’m almost afraid to ask, but why?”

“To take turns shooting each other through our winter coats with our new BB guns to see who would cry first.”

“Oh, my God,” Chuck managed, physically cringing. “That’s horrible. I’m – I don’t know what to say.”

“Say?” The sympathetic look on the nerd’s face made Casey’s spine stiffen. “Is there something wrong with that? Hell, maybe we wouldn’t have the pussification of America if more families lined up their kids to shoot them with BB guns on Christmas. How else are they supposed to toughen up the little cry asses?”

Chuck wrinkled his nose at the thought. “With less shooting?”

Casey grunted. Conversation over. That right there was why he couldn’t talk common sense to the kid.

Sarah had witnessed enough of the Intersect trying to hook up for a date that should’ve been a sure thing, so she pushed her hip off the table and moseyed over to Casey. “Major, your cover boyfriend has just invited you over for Christmas, and I think it would be wise of you to accept the invitation.”

“Not happening.”

“But why not?” Chuck asked. “What am I supposed to tell Ellie?”

“Tell her I’m Jewish.”

“Considering our fake relationship, don’t you think that would’ve come up by now?”

“Is she anti-Semitic?”

Chuck gave him an offended look. “Of course not.”

“Then it wouldn’t have come up,” Casey answered with a nod. “We done here?”

Sarah gave one of those assessing looks, one that said they would discuss later and yet again the tone of voice to use with a boyfriend. “Casey, you should go. Chuck’s right. It would be good for the cover.”

“I’m telling you one more time,” Casey shot back. “I don’t do Christmas.” After putting away the frozen fries, he walked in front of Chuck to wipe off a dirty table. “You could get the broom if you have nothing better to do.”

A silence fell over Casey’s soon to be ex-asset, so numbing and brittle that Casey just kept cleaning and ignoring him. He could count with a stopwatch the seconds that would pass before Chuck would just have to speak, so why not let the little geek sit there and suffer for a few moments while Christmas without Casey rattled in his brain?

“Well, what do you know?” Chuck finally asked, sarcasm dripping. “Look, at that, Major.” He pretended to browse the menu board behind the counter, and then felt bold enough to add an equally acerbic salute in Casey’s direction. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a new special on the menu? A ‘Bah Humbug’ Corndog. What comes on that one, anyway? Oh, let me guess: arsenic and rotten cranberries?”

Casey made a mental note to cuff the little smart ass the next time Walker turned her back. “It comes with my foot up your ass. Wanna taste?”

Chuck’s dark eyes coursed over Casey’s stance, up to his face before he looked down, his lashes sweeping his cheeks. At least the nerd had enough sense of survival skills to know he needed to back up another step. And close his trap.

It bothered Casey just a tiny bit that he actually looked hurt. Look at him. The kid had a patent on the kicked puppy-dog eyes, and motherfuck, he knew how to use them. Idiotic long lashes that belonged on a girl anyway.

“I give up, Sarah,” Chuck said, sitting down, dejected, on the edge of one of the tables. “Just tell me the excuse I can give Ellie, okay? Because, honestly, I’m kind of running out of them.”

“Excuses are your boyfriend’s forte.” Sarah failed to hide her contempt behind her steady regard of him. “Maybe we should let Casey suggest what you should tell Ellie.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Casey said. “You always say you’re sick of lying to her.”

“The truth?” Chuck’s brows knit together. “And what would that be?”

“Listening to your family unwrap gifts and drink eggnog makes me want to hurl.” Casey emphasized it with a nod. “There. The truth.”

Chuck flinched at that and looked down at his shoes. In that second Casey saw the evidence to the direct hit to the Intersect’s family, the proof in the rigidity of every muscle in that lean, long body. Sitting there on the table, his legs dangled almost to the floor, and he reminded Casey even more of an innocent kid caught up in something he’d never survive, rather than a young man with a fighting chance.

Casey immediately looked away. It was too dangerous to think of him as any other thing than an asset with a target on his head. His future was already signed in ink.

“Well, that’s just fine, then. I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, Casey.” He gave one more hang-dog look and rubbed his arms. “Do you have to keep it so cold in here?”

“Want me to turn up the heat? Waste taxpayer dollars?”

“Or Wienerlicious LLC Dollars?”

“Nope.”

“You mean ..?” Chuck scanned the restaurant and paled. “This is a front? How long do you guys plan on, uh, being here?”

Nine days and twelve hours, sport.

“That depends on a lot of factors, Chuck,” Walker explained, speaking up. “Our scientists, Beckman and Graham’s risk assessment ... and our ability to keep this operation under wraps. Without letting any threats inside our circle.”

Casey ignored the jab. Leave it to Walker to come up with the pansy, soothing answer. You, kid. It depends on when you manage to get yourself killed.

“Still, it’s freezing in here,” Chuck pointed out. “Can’t we just bump up the heat a little? Even Southern Cali can have a cold snap this time of year.”

“Put on a coat,” Casey told him. “I’m hot.”

Chuck bit down on his bottom lip and turned bright red. He muttered something that sounded like ‘Thanks for the reminder, US Government,’ but it could’ve been an aural illusion. And Christ, Chuck did not just look Casey up and down when he thought his cover boyfriend was busy scraping out the pickle vat, did he? Sometimes, he forgot how gay the kid really was.

Fuck, these pants are way too snug on the ass.

“Now, can we nudge up the thermostat just a little? I like my Red Bull chilled but this is ridiculous.”

“Told you. Not wasting taxpayer funds.” Casey walked over to recount the cash from the cash drawer. The money brought in by the Wienerlicious front didn’t begin to cover the cost of the operation, but it was something else the NSA agent took seriously. “If you two insist on hanging around yacking my ear off, you should at least –”

Another knock at the door made all three of them turn. Bartowski nearly fell off the table, he spun so fast, but the kid had been shot at a few times in the past few weeks, so Casey chalked it up to nerves. His own hand reached behind his back, up and under the white fitted shirt to the SIG tucked safely away, and he kept it there when he saw he didn’t recognize the two men standing outside the window.

“Expecting visitors, Casey?” Next to Casey, Sarah had discreetly reached ar0und and under her green shirt for her gun, her arm tense as she prepared to aim if necessary.

“Nah. Let’s find out what we have here.” Automatically, each spy stepped in front of the Intersect and closer to the door.

When there wasn’t the immediate blast of a weapon, Casey exchanged a hard glace with Sarah and narrowed his eyes at the two. Scruffy blue jeans, windbreaker jackets and khakis. They both needed haircuts. Worse, one was holding a large can labeled the ‘One Acre Fund.’

Casey strode right up to the glass. “What do you want?” he growled loud enough for them to hear through the thick pane.

“Um, hi there.” The two men shared an uncomfortable look. “We’re collecting donations to start an urban garden for the hungry. A few of the businesses in the plaza are all pitching in with–”

“Ah, Christ,” Casey said tersely. Thankfully, the government had the foresight to install steel blinds over the large expanse of glass, and while he stared into the startled men’s faces, the blinds unfurled to the floor with a satisfying clang, blocking out the little panhandlers. “No thanks. Now scatter before I scatter you.”

When Casey turned back to the dining room, he was greeted by two gaping looks. Chuck’s brows were up to his hairline. “That was kind of rude, don’t you think?” he asked.

“What’s rude, Intersect, is that people aren’t willing to get off their asses and get jobs, so they decide to suck off the government’s teat. And when that dries up, they expect us hardworking guys to foot the bill.”

For some reason, Chuck buried his forehead in his hands. Sarah was shaking her head at him as if they would need to talk about this later. “You know,” the kid said, “maybe it is best that you don’t come over for Christmas. I’ll be right back.”

Chuck unbolted the deadlock, pushed the door open, and disappeared. The two spies could hear him speaking to the men, followed by the clang of coins hitting the bottom of that can. After a minute or so, the Intersect waltzed back in with one hand behind his back. He walked right up to Casey and stopped in front of him, looking skittish, but that wasn’t new.

“I guess you won’t see me tomorrow – so here.” Chuck held out a snowflake-decorated box with a red bow wrapped around it. He must’ve left it outside on one of the benches. “It’s not much ... but ....” The kid mustered up a smile, and the tension lines in his forehead and cheeks smoothed out ever so slightly.

That was the look he had given the damn sandwich maker. Why was he trying to butter him up with a cute smile?

He did not just think that.

“What’s that?” Casey asked, flashing a look down at it suspiciously.

Chuck noted the reaction and rolled his eyes. “A gift.” He flicked a look at Sarah again, who was watching the proceedings very carefully. “I’ll wait and give you your present tomorrow, Sarah, if you’re willing to come over. Um, are you in?”

“Of course,” she assured him. “I’ll be there.”

“But, I guess I have to give you your present now,” and when Chuck turned to his fake boyfriend, he still had that brave yet sad smile pointed at Casey, “since it seems I’m not going to see you.” Another tentative step brought him right up to Casey, and now the agent got a whiff of the kid’s clean skin, a little aftershave and soap. When Casey didn’t automatically put a palm out, Chuck tried to stuff the gift in Casey’s hand. “Here.”

“No – take it back,” Casey said. This whole exchange made the spy uncomfortable enough to want to attack the filthy beverage station next. “You forgot, kid. I will see you tomorrow.”

“You ... will?” Chuck’s smile went crooked and real. Unbelievable. This kid really was almost too good to live. That was reason enough to have to get out of here.

Casey gave him look: get real. “Yeah. You think just because the calendar says December 25th, that we get a day off? You think Fulcrum‘s taking a day off? The scumbags that will do anything to get a hold of that thing trapped in that head of yours?”

“What?” Chuck took his eyes off Casey long enough to send an imploring look to Sarah and nearly dropped the white-papered gift. “You mean I have to work tomorrow? I mean, spy work?”

“Hell, yes, you do. Flash reports. Physical training. You’ll be at my place at five –“

“But – but that’s Ellie’s dinner – “ and Chuck hedged. “Unless ... you want to come?”

“Nah. Make it six, then. Bring a plate of leftovers.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“But if you’re late –“

“You’ll dock my pay?”

They both know the government hadn’t anteed up for the kid’s services, so the cynicism earned Chuck a firm shoulder bump as his handler stalked up to him. Sometimes he had to show the kid who was in charge. “I’ll make an excuse to come and get you,” he told the baffled Intersect. “Keep with your social customs, if you must, but get that noggin in order by evening.” His eyes traveled down the kid’s body and back up. Casey grunted in a way that managed to perfectly convey the fact Chuck wasn’t getting out of there tomorrow night anytime soon, either.

“I don’t believe this,” Chuck said.

“Spindly arms, too. By the time we’re heading into the New Year, I want you to be able to at least punch yourself out of a paper bag, Bartowski.”

Chuck shot him a dirty look. “Merry Christmas to you, too, John.” Tucking the gift under his arm, he looked over at Sarah and nodded. “The Buy More Christmas, er, holiday party is starting, Sarah. And I really want to go check on Morgan ... after the run-in with the stockroom ladder?”

“What happened to the Moron? Lemme guess, he tried to hump the thing.”

The dirty look broadened to a scowl. “You wouldn’t care, anyway. Ready, Sarah?” Chuck tilted his head. “Oh, but you may want to stay clear of the eggnog. Jeff’s special brew.”

Sarah checked her watch. The annual Buy Moronian bash was unavoidable, unless your name was John Casey, so the agent who would be free after closing his store couldn’t help but briefly smirk at her. “Give us a minute?” she asked the kid. There was really no point in playing dumb here, as if it wasn’t about the Intersect, so she added, “You should know, Chuck. With the blinds down, the glass is soundproof.”

Chuck exchanged a long-suffering look between his handlers. “I guess that’s my cue. I’ll wait outside, then.” Giving the NSA agent a final once-over with those dark brown eyes, he pasted on a strained, fake smile. “Good night, Casey. Oh,” he remembered, shoulders sagging, “and Merry Christmas.”

As soon as the door closed, Sarah strode up to Casey, making him look down at her. She met and held his gaze, now beyond disgusted with him. “This isn’t over. You still have time to change your mind.”

“Accept it, Walker,” Casey said. Approaching the table near the back facing the door, he sat down in front of his laptop again. “I’m out of here.”

“Don’t you think his life has been screwed up enough in the past three months without losing the only boyfriend he’s had in five years?”

“Fake boyfriend,” Casey said, surprised to hear sulkiness in his tone.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, but Casey didn’t look away from the screen. “Not to him, you aren’t.”

“He’s afraid of me. And for my part, I see nothing wrong with that. Means the kid has a healthy respect for things that can kill him.”

“He’s frustrated!”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the most likable man on the planet,” Sarah said, “but for some ungodly reason, he can’t get the agent assigned to him to see any appeal. You know, to actually like him!”

“I don’t have to like him. I have to keep him alive. And by this time next week, it will be had to.”

“But in reality, secretly, you do ... like him.”

“Like hell I do,” Casey said, his fingers closing briefly over his knee cap. He spared a glimpse at the thick blinds where the kid was waiting on the other side. “Better get over to your party.”

“All right,” Sarah said, looking distinctly unhappy about the prospect as she tucked her S&W back in her pants. “I was beginning to think you were a different man than the one in your dossier. Guess I was wrong.” After a moment, she squeezed past him, deliberately knocking the table. “I better get back to my asset, but good luck.”

-x-

Casey frowned down at his laptop and punched a few keys, for now saving the hopeless file. Maybe he could splash a bit of fucking sunshine on it in the morning. As it stood now, the way it read, he and Walker looked like a bunch of newbie FBI agents who couldn’t find their asses with both hands wrapped around them backwards and their heads firmly up them. If it weren’t for trusting Chuck’s instincts, the entire op would’ve gone up in flames. Instead of just Walker’s car.

“Hey, if it makes you feel better, it was for the mission, CIA,” he said to himself, failing to withhold a smile even though Sarah and the kid left over an hour ago. The parking lot explosion was the only redeeming aspect of the mission. The look on her face was almost worth wearing painted-on pants and having a nerdy, cute boyfriend.

Fuck – what? If there was any more proof needed that he had to sever himself from this toxic situation.....

At least he wouldn’t have to lie to the blonde another day about his departure. It had been a long few days, long enough that the simple act of sitting on the information made him feel like he was doing something wrong. He already had one person in his life he had to lie to on a daily basis.

You’ll live, Bartowski. Everything’s going to be fine. The government will take care of you.

In theory, the swap out of handlers would leave Chuck in the capable hands of a man who had the know-how to please the Intersect. It left nothing else in the way. Casey got off scot-free to find comfort in other places, familiar places, like the constant weight of a gun in his hand.

His decision, to leave now, to vanish, like the ghost he’s always been, was not a mistake. Honestly, leaving was the thing he did best, and the killing was merely the act that happened first, the catalyst that hastened his departure.

Outside in the rain, he heard a man and a woman walking along the storefronts. They sounded drunk, maybe with mulled wine or Christmas glee, two things that they should know made you weak. Things that could get you killed. That’s why Casey stayed away from them. There was the sound of a car door opening and closing. Then nothing.

Casey leaned back in his chair and glanced at the stack of latest Intersect flash files from the analysts. Chuck’s homework for tomorrow, so he grabbed his briefcase from behind the counter and scooped up the papers.

Before he could go get his laptop off the table, the cash register beeped. Beckman incoming. “Never let it be said the NSA sleeps at Christmas,” he mumbled. Crossing behind the counter, he pressed the activation keystrokes and assumed his rigid posture, face implacable. He kept his thumb tucked in his waistband, hand gripping his other wrist.

“General,” Casey said, giving a nod to her video image on the small pop-up screen. By all appearances, she was in her home office. There was no sign of a flag behind her desk and she was in a simple light blue top instead of her starchy, navy jacket strewn with brass stars and medals.

Beckman still managed to look as unapproachable as ever. “Major.” The redhead looked displeased, but Casey rarely had seen her otherwise. As usual, she wasted no time getting to the point of her call. “Graham has informed Agent Walker that I’ve accepted your request for a transfer.”

Casey kept his neutral expression up, but inwardly, he groaned. Way to go, bureaucrats. Nothing like getting timely Intel around here. “Understood,” he said, remaining stoic. “Agent Walker informed me this evening that she’s been briefed on the imminent change in our – her – team here in Burbank.”

“Good,” Beckman replied, folding her hands on the desk. That would be the end of it. “I also wanted to apprise you, Major, on the vetting process of your replacement. The agency analysts and psychologists have completed their examination of the top three candidates, and tonight I down-selected the new member of Team Intersect.”

“Who is it?” Casey asked.

“I’m afraid in your new standing as an outbound member, protocol dictates that I cannot reveal that information to anyone else.” General Beckman pushed a glossy folder off to the side, giving it a tell-tale scan right before her eyes cut to her agent. “Even you, Casey.”

“I understand protocol, General.” Casey kept his voice even, though he felt something oily and distant begin to grow through his middle. The finality was crawling in. It didn’t stop the company answer from falling off his lips like water. “The fewer people who know the team and its objectives, the safer the Intersect will be. And all of our secrets.”

Beckman was frowning as she examined him, taking in the suspenders, white shirt and the top of his lederhosen, before shifting her focus back up to his face. “But I can tell you our psychologists are in full agreement that he is the perfect specimen to keep the Human Intersect in check. Compliant, if you will.”

For some reason, Casey hated the sound of that. “Let me guess. Leanly built brunette, short, flirty, and is into pastrami on rye. “ Wants to spread mustard on a nerd.

“I suppose that’s a reference to the unfortunate situation with Lou, the deli owner.” On the screen, the general paused. “However, we were ... quite surprised by the results of the analytics.”

“You’ve been running tests on the kid’s brain?”

“The Intersect’s brain. The data we assimilated from the scans indicate that the most appropriate match to synthesize with the subject was ... “ – and she debated for a moment while her curious scrutiny swept over him – “well, like you.”

“Me? I don’t get it,” Casey said.

Apparently, his expression became confused enough to make her hesitate before biting back the tiniest of a smile. The general then gained composure and motioned a hand towards the file. “Tall, well-built, above average intelligence, a ... dominant personality,” she explained. “But of course, with one difference. A sexual orientation that suits the Intersect’s.”

Yeah, can’t forget that detail, since the poor, giant idiot would be wearing constricting knickers, serving up wieners to the public during the day and to the Human Intersect at night. In no time, most likely, the kid would be coming off a five-year drought, so playing hard to get probably wouldn’t be an issue. Hell, the agency’s Casey-look-alike would be inviting him for sleepovers within a week.

“Is something wrong, Major?”

When Casey’s eyes snapped back to the screen, he saw that she had arched a brow at him. Quickly, he shook his head and lifted his chin. “No, General. Is that it for this evening?”

“Yes – oh, wait. No. There’s one other thing I wanted to share with you.”

“Yes, general?”

She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her. He swore her face softened. “I’m afraid I have bad news, John.”

Shit. Whenever she used his first name, there was no other kind of news. Casey, to his credit, didn’t flinch or break eye contact. Instead, he waited.

“Colonel Robert Murley was killed yesterday,” the general said. “He was leading a combat reconnaissance patrol through the Gowardesh Valley. His team engaged a force of twenty insurgents occupying fighting positions. He called in close air support, but I’m afraid another hundred insurgents ambushed them as his squad conducted battle.”

Casey remained still, his arms enduringly unbent at his sides now. Out of sight, his hands bunched up into fists.

“Murley displayed extraordinary valor by drawing fire away from his squad, killing insurgents in the process. His ... actions cost him his life, but you’ll take solace in the fact he saved the lives of seven members of his team. He’ll be awarded the Medal of Honor.”

Casey felt something rise in his stomach. He pushed it back.

“I know that you fought side by side in Iraq. I realize he was a mentor to you, Casey, and you should know, he respected you as deeply. The Colonel was pleased to see his brightest pupil suceed so well in the agency.” Beckman let out a sigh. “He will be missed.”

Casey nodded slowly. “Yes, Ma’am,” he answered. “Will there be a family memorial service?”

“Not in this case. As you know, Robert Murley dedicated his life to our country. He never married, and as I understand it, hadn’t spoken to his family in years. I believe there will be a simple interment ceremony at Arlington in a few weeks. You’ll be back home by then, John. It would be good to have one person in attendance besides the honor guard. I’ll make sure we forward you the arrangements.”

“Yes.” Good, she had assured him, so he needed to repeat it to believe. It will be good.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Beckman paused as her finger hovered over the keyboard. “Merry Christmas, Casey.”

The screen cut off.

Casey waited until the light flickered to black, and he counted to ten. The sting and shock of it reverberated around the cold, dim diner. Something shuddered up from his gut, a primal violent urge to punch his fist through a table.

Just like that. He was gone.

Shaking his head, he backed away from the cash register. His jaw tightened, visible evidence that he had let this get to him, when nothing should get behind the wall he had put up around himself all these years. It made him weak, susceptible.

Well, to hell with being weak. It was not allowed. It was a soldier’s prerogative to die with honor.

Seeing his reflection in the monitor, he squared his shoulders, not even grimacing any longer, and went back to stuffing away the laptop. That report wasn’t going to write itself, but he’d have most of December 25th to work on it. Alone.

He was not a bastard. Not a selfish bastard. He was soldier.

-x-

Even as Casey had his hand on the door handle, out of habit, his eyes skimmed over the diner one more time. When he saw it, he thought about just leaving it there, but after a moment of hesitation, Casey set his briefcase on the table and strode over to the long stainless steel counter where guests put fixings on their dogs.

“Thought I told Walker to put that away,” he mumbled to himself. A Costco-sized glass jar of horseradish sauce sat right there on the condiment station. Half gone, which meant it needed to go in the walk-in refrigeration or the sauce would be ranker than it already was when he opened the store a day and a half from now. “Thanks a lot, CIA.”

Tucking it under his arm, Casey crossed the room to the back of the store, turned to the right, and stopped in front of the refrigerator’s large steel door.

A grey face stared back at him through the tiny window pane of the refrigerated room.

“Son of a –“ Casey jolted. He managed to hang onto the horseradish jar, but only just by a hairsbreadth. The shock of finding out he wasn’t alone sent adrenaline tearing through his bloodstream. A millisecond later, his spy training kicked in. Casey hunched down low, ducked to the side of the doorway. One hand set the jar down while the other reached behind him, palmed the grip of his SIG and leveled it at the door.

God damnit. How long had someone been in there? Did the intruder hear them talking about the Intersect? How could they not? Which meant the mission was now utterly fucked and compromised beyond repair. Great.

Casey did a quick scan of the narrow hallway, over to the right and across the pantry shelves. There was nowhere to hide and it was empty, as had been the dining room. His mind automatically and rapidly recalled every detail of the walk-in refrigerator. Eight by ten, no other window, no other way in or out. Wide, stacked metal shelves lined each wall and no one could fit behind them. The perpetrator could be working alone, or there could be a few men laying low in there.

Either way, they were sitting ducks. A position Casey would take to his full advantage.

Glancing back at the door, Casey blocked out the sound of his heart throbbing through his shirt and listened. Not a sound came from the cooler, save for the hum of the cooling unit. Staying low with his back to the wall, Casey eased a hand on the doorknob and slowly, very slowly, twisted it. At the count of three under his breath, he shoved it open about a foot, slid the horseradish jar across the checkered linoleum floor, and slammed it shut.

Then he waited for the gunfire to start.

That didn’t happen. Casey heard the jar rattle across the floor and hit one of the metals shelves. There was no sound of glass shattering, only silence after that.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t dealing with complete idiots.

Slinking up the wall, Casey tightened the grip on his SIG, inched forward to the door. Time to teach the goon what happens to bad boys who listen in where they shouldn’t, and Casey was more than happy to administer that lesson.

The NSA agent took a breath, waited one long, humming eternity – swung the door open, and leveled his SIG dead ahead into the dark.

He got off six shots before he realized no one was returning any gunfire. What the fuck?

Skulking over to the light switch, Casey re-aimed his gun on the ready and flipped it on.

An unholy mess of pickles, horseradish, ketchup, and mustard leaked out of dozens of jars and bottles onto the floor. The cardboard boxes holding hotdogs looked like piñatas after a ten-year-old’s birthday party.

“Who’s in here?” Casey growled, edging forward in his shooting stance.

The smashed row of sauerkraut jars wasn’t talking. His arm swung left, to right, back to the center ... before he finally just lowered the gun to his side. Casey stared hard at every corner and shelf of the refrigerated storage room. It was cool, it was lit like a hospital with harsh, white fluorescent lights, and it was empty.

Still, he had to straighten and look around again, feeling cold sweat on the back of his neck. He saw something, he was positive. A minute ago, there had been a face staring at him on the other side of the glass. It had happened so fast he barely could remember anything else about it ... accept that it was grey. Everything was grey.

What the hell was he thinking? There was no one here.

Casey rolled his eyes at himself, shoved his gun in the back of his pants, and took a second to rub his eyelids. This is what happened when he broke down and had a corndog with spicy mango and habanero pepper sauce. “Fuck California and their queer ass sauces.” he grumbled, grabbing the dustpan and mop. What was wrong with good old Heinz ketchup?

At least the government had sprung for fancy digs at Echo Park, and hey, there was Pepto in the medicine cabinet. A slug of that and a good night’a sleep, and he’d be in tiptop shape to crank the kid’s ass tomorrow.

-x-

Another flash through the windshield heralded the sudden breaking of the storm. The thundering rain pelted down on the roof of his car, heavy thick drops, almost icy, and unheard of Los Angeles. Casey figured the little local pussies had emptied out the grocery stores like the coming Armageddon and were holed up in their homes sipping eggnog and wondering if they’d see their first snowflake in forty years. Wanna see snow, princesses? Come up to the Midwest. I’ll show you snow.

As Casey pulled in at the apartment, he saw the tiny shoe box of a Nerd Herder car wasn’t in its usual space next to the spot where Casey would wedge in his Crown Vic. He figured all of the nerds, geeks, and low-lifes were having just a gas celebrating the holiday despite their pathetic existences. If Morgan was there – and Casey was sure that he was if free food was provided – the kid would want to hang around for a while, and Casey had to smile at the thought of Walker pressing nerd flesh all night on the dancefloor down aisle 2.

He parked as close as he could to the line on the left. After Walker had to watch her precious Porsche go up in a violent puff of smoke, he was sure the bitch would hug the line and force Chuck to door-ding his car when the gangly kid unfolded his limbs from the front seat of the Yaris.

Door ding, bitch? Maybe he’d stop over at the CIA lot where they towed the last smoldering vestiges of her car, take a few pictures, and text them over to her while she was unwrapping gifts with the Bartowski/Woodcomb clan.

God, there were a few perks of this job he was going to miss.

Rolling the car keys around in his pocket as he walked past the courtyard fountain, Casey couldn’t help but give a fleeting look over at the window of Casa Bartowski. The curtains were open a few inches and Casey pulled up short at the sight of Devon and Ellie cuddled together on the cushy sofa, both wearing ridiculous red felt Santa hats. He should’ve felt a bit like a perv for steering closer to the window, but it was still his job to know everything going on with the kid.

They looked comfortable. In love, even.

Casey nearly blinked at himself. What the hell was that all about? God help them.

The rain had picked up, the cold, pellet kind that slithered like dead fingers down his neck. Casey pulled the collar of his jacket closer and stalked over to his own apartment, reached down in his pocket for the key –

A face appeared on the doorknocker at eye level to him. Grey, murky. In pain. The torn flap of skin around what used to be a mouth-opening said, “John Casey.”

It took a moment to register what he was staring at. “Christ.” Casey sucked in a breath and stepped backwards. He wasn’t going to just let it go this time. His fist flew up and he pounded away at the door knocker.

Damn. Hitting only the solid oak, the zing of pain rattled down his arm. It hurt like hell. Casey rubbed at his eyes before they sprung wide again, searched the door wildly up and down.

The face, steaked with black, dried blood, was gone.

“Not real,” he ground out. “Just shows what this damn place is doing to me.” It solidified why he had to get out of Burbank. Now being stuck with the Intersect was playing craps with his mind and his vision. He was always dead straight 20/20 before he met Chuck Bartowski. Especially straight.

Pissed at himself for the new layer of sweat, slick and unwelcome under his shirt, Casey checked out the courtyard one more time for interlopers. Seeing nothing, the NSA agent rolled his eyes at himself and scooped some dripping hair off his face. He fetched the house key from his pocket and slammed it in the lock, cursed the mangos and habaneros again. If the sauce could do that to someone with his head right as it was, he vowed to serve them up to Jeff and Lester the next time they greased the inside of the Weiner store. The mingling of drugs, booze and just plain idiocy with that concoction would be fun to watch.

-x-

When Casey got out of the shower and trudged into the bedroom, stark naked and rubbing a towel over his hair, there was a man sitting in the chair in the corner.

At least, he seemed to be sitting, but maybe the stranger was just crouched there. Could it really be called sitting, only because the first thing Casey noticed was that he could see right through the figure to the chair behind him.

“Hello, John,” the man said. His features were difficult to discern. Especially with the face partially blown off, something Casey had personally witnessed more times than he could count. Shreds of dead skin flapped at the side of the cheek, more hanging from the column of his neck. Throw in the grey color and streaks, and it was hard to say what he was looking at.

“Oh hell, no,” Casey said. The overwhelming flood of anxiety, the closest thing he had before crossing over to terror – which he refused to do – sent goosebumps rippling down his arms. The air in the room crackled as if sparks of electricity pulsed to every corner. As Casey automatically brought the towel down to his waist to cover himself, the feeling of doubt and the very improbability of this night closed in on him next. Staring it down, he said, “This is not happening.”

“Yeah, that’s right. How could I forget? Having someone in your room when you didn’t expect them probably puts even you on edge.” The opaque thing paused while one of its eyes moved lower, assessing him. It would’ve been both eyes, except one was missing and the empty socket jiggled with the reflexive muscle movement but no sight. “Especially since I seemed to have caught you when you’re most vulnerable. Every soldier’s nightmare, right?”

The spirit waited for an answer while Casey, water trickling down his chest and legs, tied the towel low on his hips. With the white terry cloth in place, he straightened his upper body and rose to his full height. The worst move he could make was to show fear. It didn’t stop his muscles from tensing, and there was no hiding that fact since nearly every inch of pale skin from his lean, long calves to his beefy shoulders was out in the open.

For a full half minute, Casey faced off with the thing, not saying a word. He refused to acknowledge that it had spoken. Acknowledging it would mean that this was real, that there was an apparition in his bedroom. And there sure as hell wasn’t.

“Still a man of few words, Johnnie? You want your gun, I suppose.” Next to the chair was a small table. The visitor casually reached over, picked up Casey’s holster where he had left it before stripping down to get in the shower, and tossed the leather gun holster at him. “Here. Catch.”

Casey didn’t miss a beat. When the smooth, solid weight of the holster hit, the agent slipped out the SIG, simply twisted on the silencer, leveled off his aim – and unloaded an entire magazine into the bloody, ravaged apparition that sat in the corner. The shots whizzed like puffs of air, pounding into the back of the chair. It splintered and exploded in a cloud of fabric and stuffing.

The visitor stood up, picked up a bullet that was partially lodged in the wall, and tossed it around in his hand. The one that wasn’t half-severed and dangling from his wrist bone. “Still have the anger issues, too, eh?”

Casey gradually lowered the gun, his eyes narrowed at the man. The first few seconds or so, he tried to both process and make sense of the scene in front of him. Part of him said to pick up and go sleep in the Weiner store tonight, while the other part wanted to find another magazine and see if that smiling fucker could do that little trick again.

“What do you want?” Casey said, finally giving in to talking to the specter.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked. “Or can’t you recognize me like this? I have to admit” – and he chuckled darkly, “I have seen better days.”

That voice. Though the bandage held the jaw in place stiffly, causing the words to grind out behind its remaining bloodied teeth, something rang familiar, something Casey hadn’t heard in years. A hint of a mint julep, Southern nonchalance yet with commanding authority, recognition solidified by the way the man tacked on a low laugh. Murley always saw the humor where there was none.

It couldn’t be. He was ... dead.

“You look good, Johnnie-boy.”

“You’ve looked better,” Casey growled back at him, setting the gun on the nightstand.

The man, the thing on the other side of the room, snorted at him with disdain. “Always were the master of understatement, too.”

Now, that was the truth. The apparition who called himself Murley held no resemblance to the soldier Casey remembered. For one, there were less bullet holes. His skin hung shredded and drooping like fluttering cloth. Fractured bones stuck out of his chest and his jawbone was visible as well. A make-shift bandage made out of a ragged shirt sleeve had been slapped around his head to hold the bottom half of his jaw and essentially his head in place. His sand-colored camo shirt was also hanging from his body, tattered, but the BDU fatigue pants and heavy black boots looked mostly intact.

That wasn’t the strangest sight. It was the steel chains wrapped around his neck, another around his chest, the final two attached at his biceps. Each held a gun in the last soldered link.

“Noticed ‘em, didn’t you? The weapons chained to my body. Some of your favorites, too. A sniper rifle, grenade launcher, submachine gun.” The apparition lifted one arm, rattled it, making a grating, ringing sound. “Made it myself. Took years. Link by link ... bloody inch by inch, I did it. Every last yoke is mine.”

“I’m sorry you died,” Casey said gruffly. Even if he was hallucinating, it seemed like the right thing to say.

The small green eye met his full on, and Casey saw both the cleverness and humor that lurked in their faded depths evaporate “Oh, you’ll be sorry, Johnnie. Sorry in ways you can’t fathom.”

“What the fuck did you mean?” Casey asked. This situation wasn’t even remotely funny anymore. Did someone put the nerds up to this? Hocus pocus with a streaming video, projected from a hidden source to beam over the wall? See if they could make the big, scary boyfriend of their leader crap his lederhosen?

As he opened a dresser drawer to take out his pajamas – it was the normal thing to do, he supposed, and at the moment he needed normal – he told himself he had to keep his imagination at bay. There was this thing called logic. His motion-sensor security system would’ve activated, raining down sulfuric acid on any unwelcome guest at the doorway. So there was no physical way that someone could be in his apartment with him.

“That whole belief about judgment? The day of reckoning?” The apparition gave a short, humorless laugh at the idea of it. “Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Johnnie. It’s true.”

Casey’s eyes drifted over the visitor as he recalled what Beckman had told him earlier in the evening. “You died with valor. You’re a hero,” he said. “You saved lives up to the very end. Your judgment day is nothing to fear.”

“Empty valor has nothing to do with it!” Murley immediately croaked back at him. The whipsaw change in the thing’s demeanor sent Casey back a step before he could stop himself. “My judgment is about my treatment of humanity, my charity, my love for others, that’s a man’s measure, you fucking fool!”

“You saved the others,” Casey argued, tossing the pajamas on the bed. “You proved your treatment of humanity in your last hour. You’re a goddamn hero.”

“Yeah, and I felt nothing. I did what I did for a living. Killing people is fun. So I saved a few men in the process.” There was a moment’s silence while the apparition struggled to control himself. Casey noticed the fingers of the one blotched hand form a fist. “Twelve others died the day before. I didn’t shed a tear because I didn’t allow myself to feel. Feel the loss, the pain, the emotion.”

“You did the right thing. You were the one who taught me it was my duty not to feel. Ever. We had a job to do.”

“It looks like we were wrong, Johnnie-boy.” Murley shook his head slowly, still gazing across the room with desperate loathing. “My job was to be human. I should welcome fear and pain when men and women die, soldiers die.” He rose and stood by the side of the bed now, every aspect of him ragged, the remaining shards of lips cracked and peeling. “I felt nothing,” he said. “I let myself feel nothing.”

“Because you were a strong man,” Casey told him.

“Because I was a hollow man, you asshole!” The scraps of skin hanging from Murley’s jaw made it impossible to scowl, but Casey guessed that’s what he meant to do. “We made a mistake when we told ourselves it was okay to detach from all others.”

“We did what we had to do.” Casey, realizing he was foolish for displaying modesty to a man who wasn’t here – this isn’t happening – dropped the towel and hastily slid on his pajama pants. “A marine on duty has no family. No friends.”

“Bullshit!” Murley went on staring at him. “That’s why we fight, you pompous prick. A soldier who sacrifices his own soul forgets why he’s out there in the first place. What is worth the fight. I forgot that, Johnnie. You forgot it, too.”

Humbug. “I didn’t forget.” Casey slammed his arms through the sleeves of his sleep shirt and shrugged it over his head. “I chose to leave it behind.”

“That’s why I’m here, Major, so get that look off your face and listen up.”

He still had it. That commanding tone had Casey’s spine straightening. Hell, he had to stop himself from standing at rigid attention.

“Why the hell should I?”

Murley approached him and bent his head in, so the blood-soaked hair swung down over his forehead. His words were very low, almost a whisper. “You can avoid my fate. You will be visited by three spirits tonight. You must listen to them or be cursed to carry these chains of your own that are much longer than my chains.”

“This is horseshit,” Casey growled. But hearing the threat of unwanted visitors, ridiculous as it was, he instinctively reached down on his nightstand for his SIG, palming it at his side. “You’re not real. Get out.”

There was a choked sound from the thing. “Stubborn asshole – just as always. Stay there with your gun in your fist if it makes you feel secure, Johnnie. But I’m afraid my time is up. Expect the first visitor at the stroke of midnight.”

“How cliché,” Casey sneered. “I’ll be ready for anything that walks through that door.”

“Make it one, then, you obstinate jackass,” Murley replied. He neither moved nor looked around, but the deathly silence of the bedroom shrouded Casey in a sudden chill. Maybe he left a window open. “I would say be ready for it, but this is the one time you can’t be.”

Murley dipped his chin once at Casey, not in half-salute, but something Casey recognized as pity. He walked over to the doorway, but when he almost reached the hallway, he ... disappeared.

That was when Casey felt another bolt of cold down his backbone. How?

With his mind churning, Casey rubbed his eyes and mumbled to himself. Sleep. That’s what he needed. But before he climbed into bed, the agent slowly sauntered over to the center of the room where the mysterious thing had stood. He then approached the chair with some hesitation, but he sensed he was alone again, and the chair, while still ragged with bullet holes, had lost a good deal of its menace without the supposed interloper bleeding on it.

Was there blood? He checked the scraps of upholstery and stuffing, but there was no sign of crimson paste. “Nothing but a bad dream,” Casey muttered. He was tired of his brain playing tricks on him and wanted to go on to more interesting matters, such as getting some shut-eye.

Grunting once at his own stupidity, Casey pulled the blankets back and climbed into bed. Only pussies believed in ghosts. Hell, Bartowski probably did. Stayed up late at night watching Ghost Hunters with the moron and slept with their pillows touching so that the boogie man wouldn’t get them.

When Casey felt his heart slow to the rhythm of the steady rain, he slid deeper into the pillows and settled in.

The alarm clock next to his head blinked and made an odd clicking sound. When he glanced over at it, he saw it flashed one o’clock.

He closed his eyes, aware that he still had the SIG in his hand.

He listened.

There was the far off barking of a dog down the street left in the rain, a cry of a baby from somewhere ... and then a soft scrape that didn’t come from the hallway itself but ... it was more of just the heady sense that someone had taken a step onto the stairs. A scent of burning wax filtered through the cool bedroom air.

And Casey sat up, gun cradled, waiting to shoot the first thing that came through that door tonight.

-x- End Chapter One All We Leave Behind Us –x-


	2. Chapter Two

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter Two

-x-

If a spy didn’t have a keenly honed sixth sense by the time he had twenty years at the agency, that spy didn’t have to fret over it any longer. Because he’d be dead.

So it only seemed logical that Casey could feel the texture of the air physically changing now that the footsteps on the stairs became palpable, though there wasn’t a squeak or the soft padding of a shoe. He just knew there was someone there.

The barking dog in the adjacent building grew raucous and altogether more disorderly than it ever had been after dark. Which was saying a lot, since sometimes that collie was a huge pain in the ass when Casey spooked it during his late runs.

“Rabid dog,” he muttered under his breath. He put his gun at his side with a growl of impatience and strode up to the window to see what might be causing the animal to be restless, on alert.

From the upper vantage point, he saw the rain still coming down sideways, pattering ice pellets against the glass. He remained there, mumbling about the racket and bad dreams. As the idiotic tale went, not a creature was stirring, not a mouse, nor Mr. Stack returning home from his mistress with perfume stink on his clothes and flowers for his current wife. Poster children for staying single, both of them, he thought grimly.

“Looks like you were bluffing, old friend,” Casey said sarcastically to the absent Murley. He tacked on a disbelieving grunt, pulled his kimono closer to his body, and turned around to get back in bed.

“Do I look like a bluff to you?” the ... it in his bed asked.

In an instant, Casey crouched down near the window, a reflexive tightening as he shifted into his attack position. He had only a second to register the ethereal, shining being watching him mildly before he brought his SIG up and aimed levelly at the pillow. With the silencer still screwed tightly in place, the agent squeezed down on the trigger and unloaded six rounds into the thing.

The pillow detonated in an explosion of feathers. The thing, undeterred by the high caliber greeting, simply looked down at its pure white ... uniform and brushed away a few stray feathers that lingered in the air. “Well, I was warned to expect anything from an ornery bastard like you, but I have to say, it’s the first time I’ve been shot at. Let me guess. Anger issues?”

Casey’s finger hovered over the trigger, only a millimeter away from unloading a few more bullets, but logic held him back. What good would it do? He lowered the gun to demand the occupant of the bed to identify him – her? self. His heart continued to thud against his ribcage, pulse spiking his ears. All of that told him it wasn’t a dream, but his brain just couldn’t seem to accept that.

Blinking at it, he purposely straightened to his intimidating height and eyed the burning being, hoping it would disappear by the time he gradually shuffled closer to the doorway. Even though it wasn’t real, it seemed prudent to give the thing a wide berth.

God damn, he was losing it. This is what California did to people. This was God’s way of telling Midwesterners they were not meant to stay in the land of whiney gluten-intolerant piss-ants for months on end. Want some lacto-fermented jizz on that?

“How did you get in here?” he demanded, his voice terse. Hey, if it was his dream, he should at least know the answer to that so he could scoff about it tomorrow. Of course, he had no one to laugh with, but that was beside the point. “And oh, one more thing – if you don’t mind, pretty please, who the fuck are you?”

The question piqued it. The figure tilted its head at him, a move that spilled something that looked suspiciously like white wax down its ghostly temple. At first it just huffed at Casey, but seeing the agent still with a gun, it pulled the blankets back and climbed out of bed to stand at the side of it.

Once the thing fully revealed itself, Casey automatically took a half minute to assess the apparition with a wary eye. The uniform it wore was pure, starched white. It held a brimmed hat under one arm. The only characteristic that made it terribly out of place for a naval officer were those flames and constant trickling of fluid. It bugged him that he couldn’t place the figure as a man or a woman; the androgynous features of smooth skin yet angular jaw and nose blurred the line.

“I’m the Spirit of Christmas Past, Major Casey.”

“The past?”

“To be specific, your past,” it answered.

“Then you’re barking up the wrong tree, sister,” Casey sneered. Coin flip, he landed on ‘woman’ which made this episode even more laughable. “I don’t have any past Christmases. And you’re not real.”

The thing snorted softly and waggled its head. The subtle movement shook the white flames that lapped up from where its hair should’ve been. “He said you’d be skeptical,” it said. “What can I do to make you believe?”

“Leave.”

“Not an option.” It stepped in another pace before stopping in the middle of the room. A fine stream of wax had dripped down its forehead, past its collar and under its shirt. “They said you’d put up a fight.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Casey’s eyes roved up and down the genderless figure. “Don’t tell me you’re in the navy?” he added in contempt. “A squid. Heh.”

“They thought you would trust a figure in uniform.”

“They were wrong,” Casey shot back. He wanted to tell it to get down on the ground to surrender, but that might validate its presence. “Why are you even here?”

“I’m here for your welfare,” the thing said.

“Well, thanks for thinking of me, but if you’re here for my welfare, you better have a stiff drink and a good Cuban under that uniform.”

“Your redemption, then. You need to pay attention.”

“And you need to get out.”

It smiled, a tweak of lips that caused wax to drip down its chin. “Oh, I will – but you’re coming with me.”

“Like hell I am.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Major.”

“My op. My house.” Casey narrowed his eyes and inwardly bristled. Walker was officially the lead, but full disclosure to a poltergeist wasn’t the issue at the moment. Why would a figment of his imagination need to know that? “I make the rules here.”

The white light that beamed from it, pooling all around the room, suddenly flashed with the brilliance of a lightning strike accompanied by the crash of thunder. “I’m here to open your eyes, you son of a bitch!” it snapped at him. “For the next hour of your life, John Casey, I make the rules – and by God, you will obey me. That is an order, Marine!”

Maybe it was the volume. Maybe it was the perfect drill sergeant instructor cadence. Either way, something inside Casey’s head seemed to stagger to attention. His finger still hovered over the trigger. It did not tremble; it was only the night air and being pulled out of the warm bed that caused him to shiver. He squared his shoulders and re-aimed. “I don’t leave my post unattended.”

“The hot blonde has your boyfriend. He’s safe for now.”

So maybe the thing is a man. Or gay, he supposed.

Hang on. Did that thing just say, for now?

Nah, this isn’t real. “I’m going back to bed,” Casey said flatly.

“Not before you come and stand next to me.” The white face crinkled in amusement at Casey’s reluctance. “Unless you’re afraid, Major?”

Under the nightshirt, Casey’s shoulders tensed a bit. Unwilling to show the spirit his reticence, however, his smirk grew so pronounced that even a blurry-faced he-she would be able to pick up on the cynicism. “I don’t feel fear. I shoot things that feel fear.”

“A lot of good that did you,” it said, brushing away an invisible piece of lint on the front of its jacket. “Come here, John.”

A military impulse, the one that obeyed orders and never backed down, made him stride toward the shining thing rather than back away. Folding his arms in front of his chest when he reached it, Casey’s entire body felt the heat radiating from its – its what? Hair? He guessed it was hair under the white sparks, but couldn’t be sure. “Now, are you going to leave,” Casey asked, “or do I need to help you find the doo – ow!”

When he had moved in close enough, the spook tipped its head towards him and sent a giant splash of the hot substance, hotter than wax, over his forearm. A three-count, telling himself it wasn’t real, wasn’t pain, and he flew backwards, stumbling from the spirit. An instant throbbing shot up his arm, and he stared in disgust at the bright red splotch already forming on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” it said, crankiness flavoring every syllable, “did you happen to voice the word ow or something? Because I may have missed it.”

For a dream, it was a sarcastic little bastard.

“Mother fu – why in the name of Ronald Reagan would you do that?!”

It lifted a smooth, rounded brow at him. “Was that real enough, for you, Johnnie?”

“Want real, eh? Because if you hang around, I can show you what I can do with a few jumper cables and electrodes,” Casey challenged, rubbing the spot. “What the hell do you want?”

“Take my sleeve. I said do it,” the thing warned when Casey simply frowned down at the crisp jacket.

“Sure, fine. Let’s get this over with. There.” Casey, impatient with this charade, shrugged, reached over and grabbed the fabric. It felt like white pearls that had turned to water; it made no sense to his fingertips. “I told you this wasn’t real. I don’t even feel your –”

An eruption in a cloud or above the speed of sound swallowed him. It was without fire or flame, but the heat was immense. He picked up the scent of something like the acrid bite of gunfire popping off on the Fourth of July, magnified by a thousand, accompanied by a jolt that shook the entire room. Casey’s entire body whiplashed – for a split-second he saw his head would hit the window if he didn’t do something. Both hands flew up to stop the impact and his body rippled like a puppet on a string –

He didn’t hit it. He all but exploded out of it. Beneath him, both of them, because the thing was with him, he caught sight of the parking lot outside the apartment building. The Vic gleamed in the pouring rain, but Casey couldn’t feel anything but the wind against his t-shirt and the thing hurling him forward ... or was it backwards?

Casey looked down and let out a curse. If he weren’t flying through the air, he would’ve kicked himself for not noticing the Herder had arrived at some point in the past half hour and he hadn’t checked surveillance.

“Where are we going? I can’t leave – not with the asset home now –”

“Your asset is sleeping. Hang on, Major,” the thing said without looking over. “Does this take you back to your flying days?”

“I flew jets,” Casey barked back at he-she in the wind, “not pajama pants!”

“Relax. I haven’t dropped one yet.” It glanced sideways at him. “Of course, none of them tried to shoot me before tonight.”

“Pity you don’t bleed,” Casey grumbled. And hung onto that sleeve for his life.

-x-

“Keep your head down,” it said.

As its words buffeted in the wind, they passed under the outstretched bare branches of an oak tree, hurtling down to stand upon a wide walking path beneath a canopy of snow-covered boughs. The darkness and the downpour had vanished (along with the apartment complex and his comfortable bed), and now Casey had to momentarily shield his eyes from the contrast of a grey-skied winter day. Even standing in the snow, he didn’t feel the cold, and he suspected it had more to do than just the heat that came from the flickering flames at the crown of the apparition.

“This place,” Casey said, moving off the path to stand by a tree trunk. Safely to the side, he habitually scanned the area, and at last shook his head slowly. “Why ..?”

“So you do remember it?”

“Remember it?” Casey snorted. “I spent four years here. I know every last corner of it. I completed my Officers Training here.” He was conscious of a thousand memories all at once, like the snowflakes floating down, each a hope, a dream, a vision of a young man’s future. “West Point. I graduated Advanced Warfighting technique. Mastered in Military studies.”

“You smiled for the first time tonight,” the thing said. “Perhaps you enjoyed your time here.”

“Not smiling,” Casey answered, schooling his features in case he had slipped up. “Life was ... different then, that’s all.”

“Follow me.” The apparition beckoned with one hand. “Do you remember the library?”

“I could walk it blindfolded.” Hell, he walked this path blind drunk a few times, too.

“Strange that you would’ve forgotten how different life was. The wide open possibilities you had ....”

“Why are we here?” Casey asked testily, but when the figure in white merely turned and began to walk along the outside of the path, he saw no choice but to follow.

“Let us go on – but try to stay out of their way.”

They were the young men in uniforms and warm coats carrying books, their wool collars turned up against the snow as they scurried to a final class or back to their quarters. The kids – Casey could only think of them as such – were in a celebratory mood, the pinnacle that marked the end of another brutal semester where they survived to see the other side. Now they soon had planes to catch or long car trips ahead of them to reach home before Christmas. They shouted to each other, holiday greetings and wishes, laughter rising up to muffling branches.

“Stay out of their –? Hey. Hey! Watch it you little asshole.” One of the young men, good-naturedly elbowing a friend, sent the other kid off the path and straight into Casey.

Correction. Through Casey.

“I told you to be careful.” The thing bobbed its head, wax flinging, and kept walking.

“Me? Hey, listen – what the hell was that?” Casey trotted to catch up, giving the evil eye to the little demon when he did. “If I’m dead, you coulda told me.”

“You’re not dead.”

“Then ... how?”

“They are the shadows of things that have been, not you, Major,” the thing told him. Strange. As it walked, the uniform stayed perfectly in a line, un-creased, not shifted by the wind or body movements. “These boys have no consciousness of us within their realm.”

Casey looked around at the faces and then a moment of recognition struck. He did an actual double-take. “Wait. I know him. Joe Terranova.”

“What?”

“A ... friend. He quit after this semester.” Roommate. Best friend. Did the thing know that? Watching his young buddy, Casey nearly stumbled on a snow mound until he remembered where he was. “I never saw him again.” The blackness of regret oozed up, but he tamped it down. Joe had chosen to break off his life from the military, and Casey just assumed that meant him as well. What good would it have done to retain a friendship when it was obvious they were going in two different directions?

“This way.”

The apparition led them to the front steps of a dull, brick red building, a sloppy wet snow covering the porch. Above, he saw a tall cupola with a bell hanging in it, something they had narrowly missed when the thing swooped them in. As he walked, the rock salt on the icy stairs crunched under his feet, something else he didn’t feel.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you knew this place,” the thing replied.

“I do. Don’t be a smart ass. You know what I mean.”

“Then follow me.” Pushing through the door, they entered into a cavernous library. The scent of old books and oiled wood hit his nose, flooding him with a thousand more memories. Damn, he worked his ass off here, night after night. He wasn’t a natural student like the nerd, Bartowski. Sitting made him antsy, stillness only worked when he was settling in to watch his prey.

“You may remember, Major, but the library isn’t quite deserted,” it said. “There is a solitary young man on the second floor in the corner, away from the bright lights and common study areas. Neglected by the others, alone tonight. Follow me.”

“I know the way,” Casey said, shouldering past the thing. Up the wide, oak staircase to the right, winding between tall rows of bookcases, the agent slowly rolled to a halt when his young self came into view. “Over there. In the corner ... with my – his – shit – feet up on the desk. Mind if we get the hell out of here now?”

“Why?” Its large eyes swept over him. “Afraid?

“No, I’m not afraid,” Casey snapped back. “But ... this is a library, isn’t it? On a military campus? And to be honest my damn sleep pants and a t-shirt aren’t up to minimal military dress standards. So let’s go.”

Did that thing just snort and roll its eyes at him?

“Closer,” it said, a long finger outstretched.

Casey hesitated before he strolled over to his young self, daring to get a better look. His long legs, clad in royal blue trousers, were stretched out in front with his polished black shoes resting on the study desk. Casey saw that his younger self had taken liberties with the day before Christmas by leaving a few buttons undone and completely removing his navy blue jacket. A black trench coat lay on the back of a chair and a black backpack sat open on the desk.

“What were you doing here?” the apparition wanted to know.

“What the hell does it look like?” Casey muttered. “Studying military tactics.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“Do you think our enemies took a break on Christmas Eve?” Casey asked.

“I see a letter on the desk. Who was that from?”

Casey suspected the thing knew damn well who it was from, but it only cocked its head and waited for him to answer. “My mother.”

“And what did it say?”

Casey paused to squint over at the annoying little being, knowing he was being tested. “She asked me to come home for Christmas. There was a plane ticket in the envelope.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

Casey’s distinct growl – aggravation, slight menace, go make someone else’s life hell – drifted over them. Young Casey simply rubbed his forehead and turned a page. “This was my final year. You don’t get ahead by running off on some wild-ass boondoggle for a week. If I didn’t graduate in the top ten percent of my class, I wouldn’t get selected to go to the branch assignment I preferred. Air defense artillery.”

“Did you get in?” the apparition wanted to know.

Casey turned his attention back to the younger version of himself and pretended to give a nonchalant half-shrug. “No,” he said, his voice a little rougher. “I was in the top twelve percent of my class.”

“Hm. Looks like you should’ve gone back to Illinois.” The apparition sighed. “Take my sleeve, Major.”

Casey, who had been keeping a wary distance, walked over and grabbed the white sleeve. “Good, let’s get out of here.”

“Not quite.”

Casey swung around to loom over the uniformed specter. Ghost thing or not, he was unaccustomed to being second-guessed. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” he said. “Non-negotiable. I said we’re going back to –”

His entire world exploded again. He went from standing to flying through the air, the ground gone, the sky gone, gravity completely absent. For one perfect moment, he was suspended, a wall of cold and nothing but a hole in front of him, waiting to be flung through it.

Casey landed next to a sofa and his Marine training sent him into a roll, tucked around and hunkered into attack mode. The jolt slammed all sensation back into him.

Alert and disoriented, his eyes darted around the room. Everything in Casey went still.

“You know this place,” the thing said, pulling back to let him get a good look.

Casey could feel something crushing his lungs. He didn’t move. He only swallowed hard. “You damn well know the answer to that,” he whispered. “It’s ... home.”

From the kitchen, a figure entered the room. Casey slowly turned his head, eyes taking in a flannel shirt and worn blue jeans. The man was six feet away, but he didn’t look around. He wasn’t huge, not Casey-sized, more wiry-strength, but his presence couldn’t have screamed his quiet authority or even-temperament any louder than they had.

“Dad?” Casey asked when he found his voice.

“He can’t hear you,” the thing said unnecessarily.

Casey’s head cut to the left to look daggers at the lippy spirit, but he hated to waste a precious two seconds not soaking in the presence of his father, so he quickly turned back to him. “Dad ....” he repeated.

In that moment, his father was no longer sick. He was no longer in a hospital bed with pancreatic cancer ravaging his strength, or the reason Casey regretted forever not taking that plane ticket and hitching a ride from a classmate to the airport. He hadn’t yet spoken to his only son on the phone two weeks before he was stationed in Afghanistan, promising him he would beat this thing and be waiting for Casey when he returned. His father was just a man, a husband, and retired cop, now bringing his wife a cup of coffee, his hand lingering to touch hers before letting go. A comfort on Christmas Eve for the missing son who wouldn’t be home.

It occurred to Casey that this was the last Christmas they were a complete family. Could’ve been a complete family, anyway, if he had pulled himself away from Rhetoric and Reality in Air Warfare.

As Casey watched, he saw his mother, her hair more auburn than the grey it had become, stop next to the Christmas tree and examine an ornament – a papier-mache horse Casey had chosen at Hudson’s Department store as a child. She twisted it in her hand, feeling it, before she placed it on a higher bough.

“You’re fretting, Ida,” his father said without looking up from the sports section. Casey drew his attention to the front page of the paper. It was splashed with the details of an offseason trade the Cubs had just sewn up, but he suspected they’d still suck dick. Damn, that team would never take a series in his lifetime. “Come and sit down.”

“The storm isn’t as bad as they predicted,” his mother said, slanting a look out the front window. “I should be on my way to the airport right now to pick up your son.”

“Is he always going to be my son when he’s being a stubborn bastard?”

“Yes – bastard tree, meet dickhead apple,” Casey’s mother responded

Casey’s father grunted, amused. Just that deep sound was comforting and home all at once. Taking off his glasses, he leaned over and patted the chair next to his knee. “Come and sit down. You know damn well –”

“It is Christmas, Frank –”

“Darn well that the weather had nothing to do with it.” His father put the paper down, and his focus swept from the empty chair, over to the fireplace, before settling on her. “When our son sets his mind to something, well ... there’s no backing down. He’s driven, that’s all.”

“It’s Christmas,” his mother replied. As she frowned at that ornament, she picked up another trimming, this time a silver church in glittering snow, and moved it to a sturdier bough. “He should be here. His sister will be here in an hour or so. They haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Ida, he’s young, he’s in school. There’s always next year, or the year after. Let him get through this. He’ll come around. He’ll ... come back home.”

His mother fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater and then pulled the grey wool tighter around her middle. By the time she turned around, she mustered up a brave smile. But when his mother really looked at Dad, there was sadness and hurt behind her bright blue eyes.

Casey had put it there. He’d done that.

“We don’t know where he’ll be next year ... after he graduates? This was the year he should’ve been here, Frank.”

He didn’t hear his father’s reply.

“We’re getting out of here,” Casey said abruptly. Though it literally made him want to vomit that this was the last time he would see his father alive, he deliberately stepped backwards and out onto the porch.

The thing was at his shoulder. It grasped his arm, light and instantaneously warm. “He just told your mother he understands why his son didn’t come home. Do you believe him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Casey said. If he imagined it, he could feel the snow and ice on the ground searing into the skin under his t-shirt like a brand. “Now –“

“Not yet,” the shining spirit said and grabbed his arm. “Another Christmas. Hold on.”

-x-

The minute the words came out of the apparition’s mouth, it seemed like the dream disconnected itself from his mind. Casey barely felt himself rise. He was vaguely aware of something jerking him through space, something like a pliable yet iron band around his chest.

One moment he was standing next to the farmhouse’s stone fireplace, feeling his chest tighten as his eyes drank in every detail of his father’s presence – wanting to hug him ... though, hell, they never did hug more than a manly ‘drag you in by the arm and shoulder bump’ hug – and the next moment he was nothing. His stomach jumped to his throat, and he had one wild beat to look around in the black, filled with whizzing lights and realize, ‘So this is what it felt like to lose his marbles after all these years where the headshrinkers tried to get him to open up on his last kill before they sent him in to collect the next one.’

Maybe he had died, after all. Maybe the uniformed he-she lied and was taking him to his Maker.

That whole ‘thou shall not kill’ thing could get a little tricky.

But, if he had died and passed on to the afterlife, he wanted to freeze-frame the last point of remembrance in the farm’s living room: the freshly-cut Douglas fir tree, his parents sharing coffee, carols playing on the AM radio, his little sister bounding through the door any minute, brushing off snow and trying to be cheerful –

He’d wished it too soon; the vision was gone, engulfed in the dark.

Everything zoomed, raced. Then a dead-stop. His ears ringing, Casey cracked open one eye and then the other. The air was cool, just a breeze kicking up leaves along the sidewalk.

Somewhere deep, buried, he was still stinging from seeing his father, and wondered how this night could get worse.

As luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait very long.

What the hell? His gaze traveled from the tree-lined street, up and down, to the car parked along the curb in front, to the small flag and a gold star adhered to the bottom pane of the window, and just like that, he understood.

Husband lost in service to the country. Oh, shit.

Casey stared in shock as the thing beckoned him from the front porch, that crooked finger waggling at him. It was pitch dark, but the shining light from its head illuminated the porch and doorway, reaching all the way to the wooden swing at one end.

She chose this house just because of that creaky porch swing. Sure, it was a nice, quiet neighborhood. The two- story redbrick house appeared smaller than he remembered, like the way passing years seem to shrink the physical size of what we still see in our minds. It had no bells and whistles going for it, but there were a few other details that had sealed the deal. A cozy fireplace, a decent kitchen, two bathrooms, and most importantly, they could afford it. They had chosen this street since it was close to the elementary school where she taught second grade.

It wanted him to step inside.

He’d rather face off with a truckload of armed commies than walk through that door. What was on the other side was much more frightening – the dark side of the choice he made.

“Coward, Major?” it provoked. “Get up here.”

“Not a fucking coward,” Casey said, striding over to it. When he reached the doormat, the thing pushed the door open and waited for him to lead the way. He surveyed the area quickly and turned back to the spirit, folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. I see it. Happy? Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“All the way inside, John,” it ordered.

Casey proceeded to try and stare it down, but the thing had an advantage. It didn’t need to blink. Hell, it might not even have eyelids. It soon became clear it could out stare him and out wait him. Time to get it over with.

“We’ll do it your way this time,” Casey said, pushing past the doorway. He found it best to focus on the fireplace mantle, straight to the left, rather than the sole occupant of the room, seated on the plaid sofa with her feet tucked under her, a book on her lap.

He inhaled the scent of the place, which was more of a gift all in itself. Ivory soap and lavender mixed with the tang of burning wood in the fire. He remembered that she bathed with lavender oil and warm, fresh water, and kept swatches of the bloom in her lingerie dresser drawer, so when they made love Casey was filled with the scent of purple. And afterward they lay naked on their bed, the smell of his sweat mingling with the tranquility of hers.

“Go over to her. See her,” it urged.

Coward, he chastised himself, and angled around to the sofa. Why couldn’t she look up at him? He really would love to see her green-flecked eyes. “Kathleen,” he said. “So young ....”

The apparition crinkled its brow as it studied her first before turning those steady dark orbs on him. “Sad, isn’t it?”

“What’s sad about it?” Casey asked, gesturing about the room. “She always loved it here. Look, there’s a fire, a book ... and a glass of wine. I ... don’t see anything wrong.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Major. Your wife – excuse me, widow is the appropriate term – is alone for the first Christmas after her husband’s tragic death in Honduras.” It looked distinctly wounded for her. “I would not call that happy. I would call that surviving because you have to.”

“Why is she alone?” Casey bit out. “Where is her family, then? Her mother, her brother?” Yeah, even that worthless freeloader would be better than nothing.

“She’s a widow trying to make ends meet. And you may recall that her family is in Texas.”

Casey finally worked up the courage to look down at her again, her sleek brown hair carefully combed as if she did expect a visitor tonight. At the quiet sight of her, he had to shove down the rising ache, and finally just cleared his throat. It killed him that she spent the first Christmas without him by herself.

“Ah, but she’s not alone,” it said gently, reading his mind. “You shall see ....”

“What? Not ..?” Casey growled and swung his head around to really stare hard at her. The sense of betrayal and jealousy he felt pumping through him were ridiculous and unfair, he knew. He was the one who decided to let go. He had no right to expect her to mourn forever.

Still, if he had to meet the new Mr. Dick come swinging through that door any minute, he might not be able to restrain himself. Look at her. She’s a beautiful woman. Young, smart, her whole life in front of her. Was she supposed to spend it like a nun?

Seemed awful fast to be barking up another muscly tree, however, he thought, narrowing his eyes at her. He wanted to touch her, and almost did when he noticed the way her smooth cheek tilted upward when she read a funny passage from the book.

Upturned eyes, there was no hiding the sadness of shedding a million tears that year, no burying it under that sparkle in the light of the fire.

“Where is he, then?” Casey walked over to the wide, coved doorway that led to the kitchen. “I want to see who –”

A baby fussed from a room down the hallway. It was the last noise Casey expected to hear, so he felt it was understandable that he jumped. He riveted his eyes in that direction, torn between confusion and dread as Kathleen looked up from her book and waited, listening, to see if the baby would put itself back to sleep.

Casey felt his stomach plunge, and barely remembered what he had assumed a second ago. “... the hell?” He tipped his head toward the quiet noise. “What was that?”

“Seems like a superspy would recognize the sound of a baby when he hears it,” the thing said.

“That’s not ..?”

“I believe ‘my child’ might be the words you’re looking for.”

Casey’s chin went up. “I don’t have a child.”

“Oh, but you do, Major. That was the news Kathleen wanted to share with you that night on the phone. That night you said good-bye for the last time.”

Casey went completely flimsy for just a flash. He felt like flopping backwards, his body driven by the sheer emotional punch to the gut. The very idea of it, that night in the jungle, Keller at his side whispering ‘NSA black ops team ... live your dream, kid.’ It shut off every higher function in his brain, leaving his mind a blank mass sitting in his skull.

He turned very slowly to the doorway that led to the bedrooms. Focused only on the jet of flames as it moved down the hallway to the right.

And there she was, in a dim room lit only by a tiny teddy bear night light, lying in her crib. How he got here, he didn’t know, but he guessed the thing knew his legs would never take him here on their power, and he’d need a lift – a push, a shove, brute force – to get to the bedroom.

Knowing the tiny creature would be out of his grasp any second made every moment he lingered here that much more precious. “A baby.” Casey breathed out the word in a rasp of air, his eyes locked on the child. He knew less than nothing about babies but guessed she was no more than three months on this earth. Wearing a pink and white pajama set – panda bears, his brain finally told him – her tiny head had just the lightest covering of hair, beginning to curl at the ends. It was blonde or red, he couldn’t tell in the murk of the nursery. Everything about her was impossibly tiny, round ... soft, he figured, but he wasn’t about to touch her. Didn’t think he could.

“I ... have a daughter,” he stated. But his voice was hollow, like he was speaking from a cave inside himself.

“Sure it’s yours?” the apparition asked. When Casey’s head snapped up and he felt his jaw clench, he saw the thing actually fucking grin at him. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Now, the specter’s smiled dimmed to nothing. “Are you okay?”

“You’re a bitch,” he muttered and then remembered the ... his daughter. Great. First thing out of his mouth in her presence was a swear. Not that he needed confirmation, but he really was the worst father to ever darken a doorway on Christmas Eve. Or ever.

And that alone made heat buildup at the back of his eyes, so he squeezed them shut and hung on to the edge of the crib.

“Don’t worry, Major. She’ll never know you were here ... because in a way, you never were.”

“Comforting,” Casey said, his voice still croaking like a robot’s. Hastily, he wet his throat. “Why ... didn’t she tell me?”

“She tried to, that last night on the phone. I’m sure you recall – or I could take you there, if you like.”

“Not necessary.” The words were nothing but a growl of warning, but he put space between himself and the thing anyway, just in case it had any ideas of shooting him through a brick wall again. After it simply lifted a shoulder, concern mixing with curiosity, Casey angled back around again to face the crib.

The agent was pretty sure there was a socially acceptable response to meeting your baby daughter for the first time. He knew, at that point, swearing and arguing with an apparition wasn’t even in the top ten on that list. But all that came to his mind now was a sort of word he never thought he’d hear directed at himself. “Dad” looped through his mind, digging a deeper trench at every pass.

He felt ill. Sweat gathered under the sleep t-shirt and dribbled down between his shoulder blades. But time was running out. The agent knew he had to do something, had to put the time and date stamp on this minute before he literally evaporated into dust.

So Casey pushed down his trepidation by sheer force and managed to muster up a tiny, awestruck smile. “Baby girl .... do you have a name? You’re ....” Beautiful, a miracle ... the one thing I didn’t know I left here ....

I’m so god damn sorry ....

“Did you say something?” the thing asked.

Casey felt its presence spread heat onto his shoulder as it seemed to eye his profile very carefully. “I said .... I said she’s better off without an old man who kills people for a living. Duty called.”

“Really? You believe that?”

Casey forced himself to pull his eyes away from that apple-round cheek and to glance towards the window. “She’s safer with me out there. Not here.”

“I guess if I were in your position, I would tell myself the same thing,” the apparition admitted, clutching tighter to the sailor’s hat under its arm, a signal that they would soon be moving again. “I thought you’d want to see her before –”

The baby, his baby, interrupted with a small cry. Torn between awe at the tiny noise and worry that something was wrong, he stopped at the side of the crib again, his hands hanging on tight enough to hear the sound of the wood cracking. “What’s wrong?”

The thing laughed softly. “She wants her mother. Come on, we have to go.”

“Wait. What were you going to say – before? Before what?

The spirit’s small smile had all but vanished. “Actually, never mind. It’s not important.”

But it is, Casey wanted to shout at it. It’s so damn important that he may spend years wondering and worrying for her.

“She’s not your concern anymore, Major. Neither of them are. You made your choice. Now let’s go.”

On his left side, the thing reached for his arm. Casey achingly uncurled each finger and took his hands off the crib rail. All that was his life that could’ve been. Not now. Not ever again. It was like a slice of flesh had been taken out from his insides, yet the hand holding the knife was his own.

I did this. It was the right thing.

Casey slammed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at her another second. One part of him thought he’d get physically ill if he had to walk away now.

Fuck it. Fuck it.

Whatever the hell happened, he had made a decision. No way was John Casey going to forget the reason he gave up so much to become something ... better. It was better, wasn’t it?

Without another look – you giant pussy, a voice burbled – he strode over to the center of the room, maneuvered around a rocking chair and a tiny antique horse and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m done here. Take me back home.”

“I have one more stop for you, John.” Lucifer would’ve looked at him like that, Casey was sure. It reached for his arm. “A ... special one.”

“God dammit, whatever the hell it is, I don’t need to – “ Like before, the glass didn’t shatter into a million pieces when he felt his body flung through it. Now it was too late to touch her, and he wondered if she really did feel the same as new silk.

-x-

The feeling of flying without being strapped into a stealth fighter was daunting to say the least. By the time his bare feet hit grass, the sweat along his neck and back had dried in the cool night air. Following his intuition, he peered up and down the darkened residential side street where they had landed. “Looks like you screwed up,” Casey told it as he turned around to sneer in its direction. “You said my past. I don’t recognize this place.”

“I did indeed say your past.” After it regarded Casey carefully, the shining figure finally just grabbed his wrist. “I lied about this stop, but it’s something you need to see. A bonus for being a witty conversationalist.”

Casey grunted and pulled back. The last thing he needed was this thing riding his shit.

“Okay, think of it as a past,” it explained. “A past that has now woven itself into your life. It’s changed your life, though you don’t ... accept it.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed, the dare momentarily making him assess how to ditch this thing if he could find a way back home. “Why do I need to see this?” As he looked around, he walked out from under a street light, and Casey got a clear view of the entire tree-lined road where the specter had plopped them. “Looks like a typical Wonder Bread and little league neighborhood to me. Nothing special.”

In fact, as far as he knew, every American city and town was spackled with a neighborhood like this one. A million had spring up in that slice of time between World War II and The Cold War, neat and efficient little brick bungalows and ranch homes. This row of homes wasn’t particularly new. For one, the trees along the street were tall, creating a canopy of branches, and obviously they had been there for a generation. Two, some of the homes had seen better days; paint peeled and porches sagged. People were just too damn lazy these days to take care of things.

“Why here, you ask?” The spirit tipped its head thoughtfully. “Because my job is to make you see what you can’t – or in this case,” – and pausing, it swept a disapproving eyeball up and down him – “what being a damn asshole isn’t allowing you to see.”

“Nice language for something that tries to pawn itself off as a heavenly apparition,” Casey said to it, gleeful to get in a potshot at the annoying little he-she.

The apparition brushed him off with a look. “I chose this stop because your friend – God help Murley – thinks you need to open your eyes in order to find your true mission ... before you steer yourself straight into the pain that will never be over.”

“I didn’t get where I am by looking back, sister,” Casey said. “I have one direction – dead ahead. And whatever gets in my way had better be wearing Kevlar and have good aim.”

The specter tilted its head back to look up at him, its expression absolutely blank, almost glassy. The beacon from under its ... skin or wax showed every twitch as its lip tugged up in a sardonic smile. “Let’s go inside.” It gestured at the front porch of the house where they had stopped, and without looking back, began gliding up the sidewalk to the stairs that led to the door.

Wary, Casey followed on its heels. “What year is it, anyway?” he asked. He hated the feeling of going into any situation utterly blind.

“You’ll see.”

They crossed through the doorway. Over to his left was a small living room, typical and nothing fancy. A striped blue couch that had seen better days, a coffee table, and a TV. Strangely, it was the television that gave him the first clue to his initial questions. It was nearly the size of a small VW front to back, as deep as it was wide, and if he remembered the 90s, ball busting to even try and lift.

“What am I doing here?” Casey felt the thing jab him with an elbow and nod towards a dining nook to the right. Past the small oak table, a young woman was seated at the kitchen counter. Nothing more than a girl, really. Her head was bent over her work, dark hair cascading past her shoulders and over the bright red sweater. With her face ducked down, it took a moment for Casey to place her and why she was so familiar to him. She looked about the right height and coloring. Cautiously stepping closer, he skirted around the table to see if he could verify his suspicion.

The sound of the bathroom shower being turned off made her look up, and it confirmed the woman was her.

Casey squinted, taking in the chestnut hair, the sharp cheekbones. Even then, she was already tall, though ... not quite the willowy figure she was now. If he had to peg it, he guessed she was around eighteen years old. Almost skinny to the point where missing a meal or two would make her look too thin. The agent was reminded of a colt, all long legs and a lean frame, not quite certain how to use it all yet, though he knew for a fact she had figured it out by now.

The lone woman who decorated sugar cookies looked happy, though something seemed ... off. Ellie Bartowski, Casey knew, had always moved with self-assurance and poise. Constant, controlled, the paradox to her brother. But this young girl seemed weary from the crown of her bent head to the toes of her stocking feet.

“What? Like I haven’t had to spy on these people enough in the past three months?” Casey studied her just a second longer and looked away to frown down at the thing. “Listening in on their most private conversations? Now I gotta be flung to their past so I can pick up on even more lady-talk and chatter? Hell of a gig you have here, sailor. Is this supposed to be torture?”

“Pay attention,” it ordered coolly. “Closer.”

Casey faltered, but since Ellie was rooted to the counter, he braced himself and moved forward. With every step, he could see her face under the kitchen lights clearer, not stopping until he was right up to the countertop in front of her.

“I see her. Happy now? Did we stop here to have cookies, or can we get the hell out here?”

“Hey! Merry Christmas!” Out of nowhere, a short, squatty little person barreled through the kitchen and almost knocked over a pan that was on the stove. “Hey, El, is Chuck here?” The kid rolled to a stop, his eyes scanning over her, the cookies, and back to her face. “What do we have here? Is that the scent of –“ and he stopped to sniff the air dramatically – “sugar cookies with cream frosting and sprinkles?”

“What – what ....” Ellie dropped the plastic cone of frosting she had been clutching and shot him a bewildered, no, more perturbed, look. “How did you get in here?”

“Don’t tell me,” Casey interjected, shaking his head in disgust. “That can’t be –”

“The Morgan Door, of course. Hey, can I have one of these?” The same time the kid asked, the obnoxious little creature reached over to take one off the waxed paper. “Oh, hey. Can you put a few more sprinkles on this one first?”

Ellie’s hand flew out to slap his away. “Hands off, Morgan. These are for tomorrow.” She gave him a dirty look and nodded towards the hallway. “So I guess this confirms Chuck left the window open, even when I asked him to lock it?”

“Kids these days, huh?” The dwarf shook his head and blew out a breath. “They just don’t listen, ay, El?”

“Grimes,” Casey muttered as he twisted around to glare at him and then his companion. “Like I haven’t seen enough of this little twit as an adult, now I have to see him in his pre-moronic yet every bit as moronic, pimply, irritating stage?” He rubbed his forehead and looked up to the ceiling for divine guidance, but found nothing but a popcorn veneer. “Fuck me running. Let’s get out of here.”

“Sis, did I hear you talking to some – hi, buddy,” another voice said, a deeper one that lodged like a pitchfork into Casey’s brain. So starkly familiar. “I see you – um, let yourself in again. Er, no matter how many times I might’ve mentioned it freaks Ellie out a little.”

Casey whirled around, almost hit a bare heel on a dining chair, and stopped short. His eyes tracked directly to the towel being rubbed briskly over a mess of wet, brown curls, making them form weird shapes, down to a pair of jeans in size ‘no way in hell can you buy them that skinny and long’ and finally back up to a pair of already dangerously soulful brown eyes of a nerdy kid.

When Chuck approached the table, Casey couldn’t’ speak. He just couldn’t even look at him, though he also couldn’t look away. The kid – and he really was a kid, about sixteen, Casey guessed – shifted his gaze between his sister and his little friend with those dark eyes that needed to be innocent and unhurt for a mere boy that age, but even now they were showing signs of wear and tear. Like the soul had been ripped out recently, leaving something swollen and bruised underneath. Something he hadn’t learned to hide completely yet.

As if his subconscious knew this was a precarious path, Casey lowered his gaze and instead weighed him with a physical perusal, noting the differences in boyhood and the similarities with the man he would become.

Though the beginning of broad shoulders were evident under his blue baseball t-shirt, the rest of his upper torso might as well be a twig. And not quite knowing how to handle all of those long limbs yet, he seemed to hunch a bit at the scary knowledge of finding himself already taller than almost the entire population.

Casey could relate. Not to the rangy, nerdy part, that was all the kid’s curse.

Still, when Casey decided Chuck was too hopelessly awkward and uncomfortable, the kid flicked a smile at his sister, a brief insight that allowed something to project itself through the bashful tendency to duck his head.

Casey recognized it as a brand of boyish handsomeness that was all Bartowski’s.

Shit. What? Not handsome. Just ... okay, it didn’t kill your eyeballs to look at the kid. Not like the troll. Now that did scorch his retinas.

“Hey, before you go over the rules again, Ellie,” little Morgan said with reverence, “I should let you know. I come bearing gifts.”

“Gifts?” Ellie arched a skeptical brow and went back to squeezing frosting out of the tube onto the cookies. “The last time you brought us a gift, I had to buy a glass cage, exercise wheel, bowls, food –”

“Okay, okay.” The bucktoothed kid raised a hand to stop her. “Maybe getting someone a hamster is not the best surprise gift.”

“It’s a terrible gift, Morgan,” Ellie told him.

“Not to mention the mystery of whatever happened to Mr. Peepers,” Chuck observed, cocking his head at his sister. “You were always very vague.”

“He ran away when I opened the cage.” As her little brother looked even more confused, Ellie cleared her throat, directing her attention to filling in a tree cookie with green frosting. “We talked about this.”

Casey looked at young Chuck and slapped a hand on his own forehead. “God, does he really fall for that?”

Chuck pursed his lips at his sister, started to say something, and then just shook his head and turned to his Weeble-sized friend. “Presents? What is this that you speak of, oh great Obi Wan.”

With a grunt that was more of a disgusted rumble, Casey took a step closer and gave young Chuck a stink-eye all the way down to his size 13.5 black Chucks. “Figures. He was a nerd before nerdiness was cool.” Of course, his tone said what he didn’t bother to say: and nerds have never been cool.

“Now, try to rein in your excitement, my young Bartowskis,” Morgan said, grinning like a little idiot. A fist shot up in the air, and there was a plastic grocery sack dangling from the end of his arm, held aloft like an Olympic torch. “I bring you ....Bolonia’s famous Christmas Eve tamales!”

“Tamales?” Finished with drying his wild mop of hair, Chuck tossed the towel over the back of the chair. “Wow ... that’s .... unexpected.”

“Yep. Get ‘em while they’re hot.” Morgan lowered the bag and reached a hand inside. “Just the starter pack, kids. Twenty with chicken and mole, and twenty vegetable salsa. She says to say Feliz Navidad.”

“That’s great, Morgan. Thanks.” Ellie stood up to take the bag from him. She gave him a puzzled smile. “I guess we’ll have them with the pot roast I made.”

“Did you say ... pot roast?” Morgan tucked his hands in his pockets as he strolled over to the stove. “Man, now that sounds more filling than corn and a slap of hominy.”

“Tamales are filling,” Ellie said, moving to stand between Morgan and the oven. “Have a few more. Like now. You know, back at home?”

“Nah.” Mini-Morgan waved that off with a stubby hand in the air. “Twenty-two and counting. Still not full.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose. “Twenty-two.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing. Where does the little fucker put it – ow.”

The thing had elbowed him. It then gestured for Casey to silence himself and pay attention.

“Pot roast, though, now that’s filling.” Morgan tried to lean in closer around the oven. “Mind if I take a look?”

Ellie jumped in front of him, arms crossed over her red sweater. “You’ll lower the oven temperature if you peek.”

“Peek – ah .....” Morgan’s eyelids fluttered. Since Ellie was a foot taller than the diminutive moron, he was now looking unswervingly at the way her top puckered out naturally over her breasts. “I – uh, promise not to touch them, or it – I just want to l-look.”

“Jesus. Even back then he was a little perv,” Casey said.

Ellie glowered down at him and made a decent fist for a girl. “Back up, Morgan Grimes, or I will make it impossible for you to eat anything for a week.”

“Um.” Over Morgan’s head, Chuck turned to his sister with a pleading look. “There should be plenty, right, sis? And it is Christmas Eve.”

Now Ellie’s face wavered, a quick grimace, but one more look at her brother and she pushed a hand through her hair. “Fine. He can stay. I need another opinion on the gravy, anyway.”

“So there is gravy?” Morgan asked. When Ellie walked ahead back to the counter, the kid leaned into his beanpole best friend and whispered, “Like I needed another reason to love her.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Why am I here? Watching these – kids have Christmas. I don’t need to see this.”

“Do you notice anything missing, Major?” The apparition’s eyes flashed around the room. “Anything at all.”

“No,” Casey said stubbornly. “So if we’re done having fun, let’s go.”

“Let’s try a different tact to illustrate the point,” it said, “for the hard-headed among us.”

Casey didn’t get to tell it being hard-headed beat the hell out of the alternative, though, for the instant it spoke, the room seemed to shift and ruffle before flattening out again, as if a page had turned.

When Casey looked towards the kitchen, it was empty. The lights had been dimmed. Clean dishes sat drying in a rack. A cinnamon scented candle on the counter was the one sign someone was still around.

“Come on, Chuck, don’t be a big baby,” Ellie called out. “Get out here.”

Casey glanced over his shoulder to see the tall brunette sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the Christmas tree, bathed in multi-colored lights. She had a gift in her hand. “What are they doing?”

“Watch,” it told him, pointing at Ellie.

After a minute, the lanky boy straggled out from the hallway, looking quite dejected if the slight scowl meant anything. Eyeing him, Casey had to suppress a laugh. “Oh, buttercup, don’t you look sweet ....” he teased.

Stretched over the leggy kid was the most god-awful article of sleepwear Casey could imagine putting on an adolescent teenage boy. The red and white striped pajamas covered him head to toe – or thereabouts, only because he obviously had another growth spurt recently and now the bottom band clung somewhere in the vicinity of his narrow calves. If that wasn’t bad enough, the sleeves ended a good eight inches before his arms did, making his wrists look like twigs and his entire body like a half-covered stick with curls slapped on top.

“Sis, this is ridiculous.” Chuck pointed a pained expression at her and held out his arms. “I look like a giant, dorky candy cane.”

“Got that right,” Casey said with zeal.

“Shh,” it warned him. “Listen.”

“Why do we have to do this?” the kid continued to whine, dragging his feet as he approached his sister.

“You know why.” Ellie patted the carpet. “Come and sit down.”

Chuck peered over to make sure the front window’s blinds were closed and moped over to her. “Next year, I get to pick out the pajamas,” he groused, plopping down. “Maybe something cool like Knight Rider?”

“Oh, nerdiness did start early with this one,” Casey mumbled.

“Not over there. Come and sit next to me. We have to get a picture.” Ellie smiled and nudged him. The smile looked ... oddly forced, like something was out of place. “I have the tripod set up on the coffee table.”

As she drew his attention over, Casey noticed a black, boxy Olympus aimed and ready. “Now let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll run over and set the timer.”

“Um, never?”

“Be serious.” Donned in the matching pajamas, they looked much better on her, and Ellie didn’t seem to mind getting her picture taken. She jumped up, set the timer, and scrambled back to sit next to her baby brother, their heads close but not touching. “Okay, sit there and smile.”

“Say Duke Nukem,” Chuck added.

Obediently, they both grinned for the camera and said it together. The kid’s smile was much more strained than Ellie’s, probably because her crotch wasn’t being impaired by the taut pull of candy-cane polyester blend.

The camera flashed, momentarily blinding them. After blinking, Ellie elbowed him and shoved the gift on his lap. “How can you ask why, Chuck? It’s a Bartowski tradition.”

Chuck shied away for a moment by looking down at his crossed legs. “Ellie,” he began slowly, “it was a ritual when we had mom and dad here ... and then just dad. But now, with just the two of us –”

“It’s even more important that we hang on to our family traditions,” the girl said adamantly. “Don’t you get it? We are the family now. Each other. And it doesn’t mean we give up on the things that got us here, even the little things – like traditions.” Ellie, eyes glittering, put a hand on his knee and gave it a little squeeze. “The one time we want to let go ... is the one time we need to remember more than ever. It keeps us, well, connected. Even when we’re not. Got that, little brother?”

Damn if this conversation wasn’t unsettling to his stomach. Sure as hell could ditch the lady-talk.

“Yeah.” Chuck still seemed glum about a hell of a lot more than the pajamas, but he gave in by rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I get it. Should I open this?”

“Yes, open it!”

Chuck tore into the paper and held up a video game cartridge, goggling at it with a look of awe. “Super Mario –w-wow sis, we can’t afford this.”

“Shut up about money,” Ellie said, unable to hold back a grin. “So I took a few extra shifts at Charley’s. Big Deal.”

“I hate that you have to work so hard.” Chuck fidgeted with the game in his hand. “First year at UCLA, almost a full time job, and oh, yeah, for the bonus prize, let’s saddle you with your baby brother and Child Protective Services visiting every four weeks.”

Ellie looked at him and rolled her eyes. Whether the kid picked up on it or not, Casey saw the tension shoot through her shoulders and back. “I told you a million times. It’s not trouble. You are not my burden. You’re smart, you get good grades, you stay out of trouble – oh, and you’re my baby brother.”

“You can’t stay on campus, you have to work all the time, and you can’t have any fun.”

Ellie stuck out her tongue at him. “You’re my fun. Now shut up and enjoy your present.”

Chuck squirmed a little and re-crossed his lanky legs, but eventually his smile crept onto his face again. Not the big crooked one, Casey noticed. For some reason, he was holding back. “Thank you, sis. Now open your present.”

“What present?”

The kid used that long reach to make a grab for something under the tree, and when he pulled back, he held up a small box wrapped in gold paper. “Ta da. Of course I got you something.”

Ellie glanced from his smile to the box and carefully took it from him, setting it on her lap. “You didn’t need to get me anything. You know we don’t have the money.”

“I picked up extra shifts at Chippendales,” the kid said, flexing a twig-arm. “You wouldn’t believe what those me – women will do for a gander at this.”

When Casey looked over, Ellie had an inscrutable look on her face, her brows drawn together. After a moment, she seemed to suppress a smile and hid it by nibbling on a sugar cookie that had been left out for Santa. “Maybe I should just open this.”

“Way to go, kid,” Casey chuckled softly. “You picked a hell of a time to come out.”

Chuck cleared his throat and took a cookie from the plate, perhaps hoping the movement would hide his blush. “Good idea.”

Ellie ripped into the paper. When it revealed a trinket box, she gave her brother a quizzical look. “Okay, now I am concerned. This had better not be jewelry.”

“Why?”

“Too much money.”

“Sis ....”

“Okay, okay.” Ellie smiled and shrugged off her reluctance. Flipping the top open, it revealed a delicate silver necklace. “Oh ....” she murmured, and holding it up, a four-leafed clover charm dangling from the thin strand caught the light. “Chuck. What ... did you do?”

Casey watched as the kid turned brighter red, this time with pleasure. “It’s our ... lucky charm, El. I mean, heck, look at us. I figured we must have one. And I decided you should have this ... to remember how lucky we are.”

The agent couldn’t help but get sucked into the picture of those two kids, and because he hadn’t ever had to deal with this kind of bravery, he felt his throat close up tight. The constriction, huge and heavy, didn’t let go, either. It welled up in there, a weighty ball he tried to stomp down. It sprang leaks, but god dammit, he stomped those down, too. They’d be fine. Keeping to their ridiculous little traditions.

Despite the soul-breaking abandonment, they’d be fine.

He felt his fingers curl in tight, like he wanted to grab them and tell them so.

“We should leave,” Casey told the thing as he backed up towards the front window. “Give them their privacy.”

“We should,” it said, letting him know they would not.

-x-

The world froze for a split second or an hour. The sensation of being pushed through a wall that wasn’t a wall – it was time – made all thought stop briefly in its tracks.

When Casey felt the world right itself, he turned a sour look on the gleaming specter. “Getting a little sick of being pushed around by you,” he grumbled. And vaguely violated, now that he thought about it, but he wasn’t about to let the thing in on that little secret. “Where are we?”

“Why don’t you look around and tell me?” it asked, gesturing around the room. Wax drizzled down one side of its face now, puddling on the floor and reminding Casey of the slight burn on his arm.

Casey looked around, and it didn’t take the spy more than a beat to understand where they were. The bedroom they had landed in looked like the result of an unfortunate explosion of nerd gear. A desktop computer the size of three modern day workstations took up an entire desk. There were speakers, an extra monitor, a behemoth from another era, and a turntable with a stack of vinyl records.

That wasn’t the thing that had locked his attention. The young, nerdy kid in candy cane pajamas lying stretched out on top of the bed covers was the one distraction he couldn’t pull his gaze away from. Maybe it was the way he had his forearm over his eyes, pretending to sleep or hold in the sounds, when the kid had to know he was failing at both.

And then it happened. A solitary tear, unmanly and unwanted, made its way down the side of his temple. Inwardly, Casey winced. He felt like a grade-A creep watching a teenage boy cry when he thought he was alone. Then again, he was alone.

“Dummy,” Chuck mumbled under his breath, hastily wiping it away. “It’s Christmas. Do you have to ruin everything?”

“What’s wrong with the baby nerd?” Casey asked in a low gripe, trying to skirt the issue. “Lemme guess. He didn’t get the video game he wanted?”

The apparition kept its eyes pinned on Chuck, a gesture that made Casey do the same. “He sold his Nintendo system in order to buy the necklace for his sister,” the thing merely acknowledged.

“Well, he can get a new one.” Casey shrugged. “Or, hell, go play it at Morgan’s. God knows that little prepubescent moron must have all the geek trappings.”

“Do you think that’s what this is about?” The thing actually cringed at him, a look the agent didn’t appreciate one bit. “We are down to our last opportunity for me to penetrate your obstinate skull. Hope runs out for you, Major.”

“Like hell it does. What am I looking for here? A crying kid?”

“Watch,” it replied firmly, giving him an icy look. “See what he does.”

While they were speaking, Chuck folded his arm over his chest and lifted a shoulder to wipe away any last evidence of tears. The kid let out a huge breath, like he needed to deflate all of the anxiety and thoughts out of him. After a minute, he sat up, looking more resolved and intent.

“All right. Enough,” he told himself. Getting down on the floor, he reached under his bed and pulled out a shoebox. Opening it, Chuck peered inside at first and then began shuffling through the contents one at a time. “Tell me ....”

By now, curiosity had Casey stepping forward to bend over that lean back and mop of hair to see what had riveted those dark eyes.

“Letters?” Casey asked under his breath. Spying the addresses, he skimmed them and stayed absolutely still as the kid’s fingers sorted. His insides had frozen, a coat of frost working its way through his chest, making movement or backing away impossible.

What the hell? One by one, he read them again over the kid’s shoulder. Stephen Bartowski, Blackbird Lane, Fresno. Stephen Bartowski, Owens St., Cartago. S. Bartowski, Canyon Rd. Ogden. S. Bartowski, Rt. 447, Broken Bow –

“Chuck is looking for his dad.” Casey swallowed down the thickness in his throat. Why should he care? So straightening and stepping backwards, he brushed away the image in front of him, Chuck’s hunched form, all those lean muscles strained against the emotions he wasn’t holding back. The agent scoffed a little. “Good luck with that, kid.”

“You feel nothing?” the thing asked, regarding him with an odd expression.

Casey thought about telling it to go to hell. But something compelled him to return his focus to the floor, the too-tight pajamas at the collar, the tender exposed neck on the back of that kid, and he wished there was someone who could put a hand there – Ellie, that’s who he needed – and tell him he’d be fine in a few years. And then he wouldn’t be.

“You think I’m a damn robot, don’t you?” Casey asked it. “Well, newsflash, sister, I’m not. Wanna know how this makes me feel? It makes me wish I could hunt down that dickhead for leaving his kids high and dry like this and kick his ass into next week.”

The thing’s forehead creased, its pale beacon emphasizing every line. “You have no respect for Stephen Bartowski for leaving his family like this. Quite candidly, you hate him.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“You’re a hypocrite, John. What you’ve done is much more despicable.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this.” Casey scowled and strode right up to it. “I’m not like him.”

It didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch. Its eyes remained steady. “He left them because he loved them; he left in order to protect them.”

Protect? From what? What was it about Stephen Bartowski, besides being a deadbeat father who would abandon his kids, that gave him a sense of danger? Casey made a mental note to run the name through the NSA database a few more dozen times. “He’s nothing but a damn coward.”

“So in your mind, it’s a coward who leaves his children. His wife. His father and mother.”

Casey felt each word punch through him. Dammit, that thing was not going to tell him how to live his life. He loomed over it, eyes blazing. The gangly kid on the floor was all but forgotten. “I did it because I had to.” The exclamation came out before he even realized he was saying it, but it didn’t stop him from adding. “It was the right choice.”

“That’s a lie. You didn’t have to make a choice. It had nothing to do with protecting Kathleen. It had everything to do with severing your past for good, building those walls brick by brick. She had gotten in. You needed to get her out. Desensitize yourself. You made her a widow, Major. And your studies to make it into the program, rather than go home for Christmas?”

“It was a sacrifice my country required,” Casey said through gritted teeth.

Yet another sigh. The apparition in white didn’t waver. “No, Major. Ellie Bartowski made a sacrifice. You just made a mess.”

Casey’s fists became knots, reflecting what was happening in his lower abdomen. He started to open his mouth, and then he had a better idea. Extinguish that damn thing with its hat. Reaching down, he grabbed the cap and lifted it over the flames –

The thing pushed him through a wall. He had the sensation of being part of it, within it, and then he was out the other side.

The cold air rushed through his bedroom window the instant he landed on his bed, surrounding him and making him shiver. Pulling his silk kimono around him, he flicked on the bed lamp, light flooding the room where there had been only darkness before. There was no comfort in that.

Casey rubbed his eyes. For the next minute or so, he roamed and paced around the room. “I am not a coward. I made the sacrifice.” Thankfully, there was no one to argue with him anymore. The thing had left in a splash of white wax and one last assessing look over him.

“Just a damn dream,” Casey said, climbing into bed.

Though, come to think of it, he didn’t remember when this evening he had spilled wax on his forearm. He only knew it still stung a hell of a lot.

-x- End Chapter Two All We Leave Behind Us –x-


	3. Chapter Three

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter Three

-x-

Casey rolled onto his side and pulled the pillow over his head. As the minutes passed into an hour, the more the dream seemed just that – a dream and nothing else. Maybe he should’ve backed off that second Hot Pocket. As a rule, after the Philly Steak and Cheese variety, one did not just willy-nilly switch to the fiery jalapeno lime chicken without paying the penalty. That dicey combination was now carpet bombing his brain.

Those other imbeciles had it all wrong, though. That right there? Now that was what Christmas was all about. None of those lady-feelings. Skip the mistletoe. Ditto to the gift mongering, cranberry-spiced B.S. Hell no. This was the Real Man way to celebrate. In two minutes and ten seconds, one hand held a crispy, microwaved meat-filled turnover, a pour of good scotch in the other, feet up in full recline mode, and a History Channel marathon on the war in the Pacific front. Oatmeal breakfast bar and a beer chaser for dessert.

Now, this was the American Dream.

Measly little suckers.

The Intersect had tried to interrupt him during the festivities, of course. According to the surveillance at the Buy More, Chuck was still at the holiday party while Casey was having his own private celebration, yet the kid had called him for God knows what reason since Walker was right there watching over everything and according to VS4, even danced with the asset to make it look like he was having fun.

Because from the streaming video feed, it didn’t look like the Bartowski was having a great time. And maybe it wasn’t the usual protocol to ignore the precious Human Intersect when he called or texted twelve times, but Casey did the right thing and just ignored his phone buzzing at him for one night.

‘Why did you do it?’

Half asleep, it took Casey a moment to realize it was a voice in his head that had spoken.

So, why not just tell it.

Chuck wants me to come over tomorrow. That’s why.

‘Why don’t you?’ the pesky voice asked.

Because I’m leaving this place. His needy, wrapped-up little world. I need to distance myself, like any good spy. And I’m a damn good spy.

‘What are you afraid of?’ it asked.

Afraid? Heh. Nothing.

‘Him?’

Him? The Intersect? Shit. Drifting into slumber Casey still managed to grunt in disbelief. The scariest thing I’ve ever seen that kid do is eat a tuna salad sandwich out of a vending machine when he’s pulling a double shift.

‘Or perhaps you’re avoiding him because you may actually ... like the kid,’ the voice droned in his ear.

In hell. Casey groaned and ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering why he had been sleeping with his jaw locked tight. What time was it anyway? He told his stomach to get over the combo dinner. He just needed to sleep. In the morning, he’d be fine.

The voice had other ideas. ‘Maybe secretly you admire him for his smarts and resilience as a civilian?’

Yeah, and he’s impulsive, head strong, and too excitable to last out there.

‘So your answer to that is to abandon him,’ it said, low and precise, ‘knowing he won’t make it. Or is it because of the kill order?’

“Kill order?” Casey said aloud. His entire body jerked just the slightest bit. “Who the fuck are you? Nobody knows about that. Not even Walker.” She was too busy sniffing over Bryce’s fake grave that afternoon, and while Casey watched the whole charade go down from behind a tree in the cemetery, the call came from Beckman. Eyes on the kid, he heard every word she didn’t have to say. ‘What he does best’ was enough.

The voice didn’t answer.

About damn time. Casey thought that was the end of it, and he’d get some much deserved shut-eye.

Until he felt his mattress shift with a weight that wasn’t his own.

“Mm, whoo, look at you. Nice. Is that real silk?”

Casey’s eyes sprung open. A thousand tiny pricks of needles dug into his skin – the room was cold, he was fully awake now – and oh, yeah, he was hearing a man’s voice coming from the other side of his bed.

“Jesus.” Interloper. Casey shot up to a sitting position, his hand sliding under the pillow for the gun he had hid there after the first visitor. It was gone.

“Bet you paid full retail for that, huh?” The man sounded ...oddly familiar, even jovial. Casey could hear evident wariness, however, and he knew he was being observed very carefully. “They bend you over real good at the cash register?”

“Eh? Retail – bend me – what the fuck–?“ Casey’s eyes bore into the dark while his hand scrambled under the blanket for the pistol. “What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Looking for this?” the man asked, humored. As Casey’s eyes adjusted to the murk, he could see the stranger holding something that caught a flash of light from the clock radio. “I was warned to take it before you could unload a round into me. Not that it’d hurt, but my body is my temple, you know? Gotta keep it in pristine, fightin’ shape. The ladies like a man with a fine back porch, they say – but lemme tell ya, they don’t mind this front porch either. God, I miss fixin’ the plumbin’.”

“Give me the gun,” Casey demanded.

“Why?”

The agent huffed at such an idiotic question. “So that I can shoot you, moron.”

To Casey’s outright disgust, he felt a few fingers slide along the fabric of his kimono. “You never did say. Satin? Whoo whee. Feels smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“Get your hands off my damn robe,” Casey growled.

“Let me guess. Touching bothers you.”

Still blind in the dark, the agent yanked his arm away from the grabby fingers. “And it’s silk. Not satin, for Christ’s sake.”

“Ooh, touchy. Fine. Just askin’.”

“Answer the question,” Casey repeated, squinting over at the outline of the form. It was big, not partly feminine like the last one. Probably just as annoying, though. “Who are you?”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man must’ve reached over to the nightstand because the lamp flicked on, blinding Casey in the burst of light. “Think of me as the next coach in your line-up tonight.”

Casey momentarily covered his eyes with his forearm, peeking around it while his pupils reacted. “Yeah, well think of me as the one who’s gonna – “ He blinked again – and his jaw fell open a little. “Big Mike?”

“Who the hell is Big Mike?” the man asked. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present. Friends call me Big Chris-P. Get it? Christmas Present? Crispy?” The man was smiling as he nudged Casey in the ribs. “Ladies love a catchy name. Makes ‘em think they’re hanging with a rock star.”

Casey had enough of his wits about him to turn a bland ‘dumb shit’ stare his way.

Chris refused to flinch. “Lackin’ a sense of humor, huh? Well, that means you can use the full name – Mr. Christmas Present to you. I have read your comment card. Man, you are a stubborn one.”

“Comment card?”

“You know, the observations from the first visitor.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t recall approving any unauthorized assessments on my behalf, Crispy,” he said. “The psych-heads have looked me over after every mission and come up shooting blanks.”

“Bet they did.” The spirit made a disgruntled noise and reached over to take Casey’s sleeve again. “We do have some work to do, big man.”

It was ironic that the new visitor called Casey a big man. The guest was a theory of expansion kind of guy. Big Bang. Give him room, he’d fill it. And honestly, he did bear a striking resemblance to the store manager of the Burbank Buy More, however, but there was just more of him. Wider face, bigger body, longer arms, all of it.

But it wasn’t Big Mike. For one, after the store party, the man in charge was probably sleeping off a night of unlicensed frolicking in a big box establishment. Second, Casey couldn’t recall the last time he saw Big Mike in a heavy, forest green robe and a wreath of pine and holly berries around his head.

Not to mention, why the fuck would he be sitting in Casey’s bedroom, anyway?

“What do you want?” Casey asked, scooting back.

“You and me are taking another leg of a trip.” Chris nodded towards the window and rose out of the bed. “Ready?”

“You have got to be ....” Casey threw back the blanket and climbed out of bed, ready to face off with the stranger. “Let’s get something straight, between us, C.P.,” he said, and looking over at the figure, Casey couldn’t help but feel a twinge of shock that Chris actually stood an inch or two taller than even him. He attributed it to the heavy black boots on the man’s feet, while he of course was bare foot. “This little game tonight? I’m signing off. Done. Bugging out. Roger that?”

“Why? Scare ya?”

Casey crossed his arms and cast a scowl straight at him. “I’ve seen enough. I don’t care.”

Chris cocked his head at him, his expression hard to decipher. “So ... you admit ... you did see. That’s a decent first step.”

“Yeah? Well, hear this: it’s the last step.”

“Woo. Look at you.” Chris chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Bet you scare the bejesus outta those hotdog customers when they come in two minutes to closing time. Now let’s go.”

Casey jerked his shoulder away from the grasp and backed up a step.

Straight into a snowbank at the side of a barren, dark, road.

-x-

“Need any help getting up?” Chris asked. He stared down at Casey, his huge hands resting on his hips. If he offered to help, he gave no indication he was going to extend a hand. Not that Casey would take it.

“What the hell,” Casey muttered. “Where –”

“Hoo, your butt has to be getting cold, man,” Chris exclaimed, tipping his head at him. “Might wanna get out of there before the snowplow comes by again.”

Casey darted his attention to the right and left, but it didn’t take a superspy to realize that indeed his ass was planted in a snowbank next to a sleet-covered road. Seeing his predicament, he made a grumbling noise and quickly got to his feet. It was strange that he couldn’t feel the cold.

“Helpful advice,” Casey shot back at him, dusting himself off while his eyes combed the area. It was again familiar, so he only gave it another routine glance before he focused on the Jolly Green Giant in velvet. “Why did we come back here?”

“You saw the past, John – can I call you John?”

“Major Casey.”

“Heh. You are one unyieldin’ mother. Anyone ever tell you that? But now, my man, you need to see the present.” Before he could argue, the bear of a man elbowed him hard enough for Casey to take a few steps over the snowy front yard. “Get moving. Colder n’ a Tibetan tin toilet top out here.”

Casey shot him a disapproving look – he didn’t need a helpful shove – but there was no avoiding at least giving a brief perusal in order to earn a return trip to his bed. “You brought me back to my parent’s farmhouse. No big deal. Did you really drag me all the way out here in the middle of nowhere to admire the Christmas lights?” Just as Casey always remembered, strings of colored lights lined the porch, evenly wrapped around the banister and porch poles. Up above, more lights hung in glittering loops from the planter boxes in front of the second story windows. He couldn’t see it, but he was certain his mother had planted fake plastic poinsettias to replace her geraniums.

“Be nice if we actually went inside to see how your family’s doing,” Chris said.

“From the looks of it, they’re fine. Let’s wrap up this little tour and head back,” Casey offered, giving him a dirty look.

“Move it,” Chris stressed, motioning him to stay on his heels as he turned and began lumbering away.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Casey sneered. Shaking his head, he pulled his kimono tighter around his body and followed the giant, robed man up the porch steps. A squall had kicked up at some point that day, and the steps were buried in the white stuff. The agent planted his feet in the huge footprints and stopped at the door.

“I’ll let you do the honors,” Chris said, gesturing that Casey should go first.

“Not afraid.” Casey rolled his eyes and pushed his way in.

The first thing he saw was his mother. He figured it would always be that way: something about her height, her stance, her steady, quiet presence. As much as Casey wanted to come closer, he stayed back, eyeing her up and down until he noticed her sweater. It was the one with green sleeves, a pattern of red bricks in the front, and somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach was a fireplace replete with little hanging stockings.

“Oh, God, Mother. Still haven’t given up that thing, eh?” Before he could smile at her winning ticket into the ugly sweater contest, Casey faltered. “Huh?”

Sitting where his damn sister and her family should’ve been was a whole lot of open space.

“Oh, it’s almost time,” his mother said to herself. Smoothing her hair, she glanced out the window into the dark. “Better get moving.”

“Moving?” Casey swung his head around side to side. “Where the hell is everyone?”

While his mother went on obliviously gathering up a coat and hat, Casey took one more look around and strode, no nonsense, into the kitchen. “Maggie?” he heard himself ask, though apparently through voodoo magic, she wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Dan. Andy?”

“Who you callin’?” Chris asked, following Casey’s eyes as he searched the back porch.

“I’m looking for a red-headed pain in the ass and the unfortunate, besieged bastard who put a ring on her finger.”

As Casey broke off toward the living room again, Chris gave him a confused look. “What now?”

Casey grunted. “Also known as my big sister and her husband. Andy is their son,” he hastened to add. The explanation seemed unnecessary since there wasn’t a sign of anyone else around. “Where the hell are they? They always spend Christmas with Mother.”

“Oh, your sister. Shoulda said that,” the man replied. “She’s not coming.”

Casey pulled up short at the foot of the stairs and shot him a suspicious look. “Why not?”

“Whole family came down with the flu two days ago. Every one of them in bed, hacking and coughing – woo, no one wants near that stuff, man. Talk about the twelve days o’ Christmas, eh?”

“I get it,” Casey said, cutting him off. Slowly rounding on his mother, he watched as she slipped on her good wool coat and hat. “Would’ve been nice to know that.”

“Why? You would’ve done something about it, John? Maybe drop everything and hop on a plane to spend Christmas with your Mother. For once?”

Casey didn’t answer. For one, he didn’t owe that oversized douche any kind of explanation, and two, his mother was heading out the back door and he wanted to keep his eyes on her for as long as he could. “Where is she going?”

“To church,” Chris said as the back door slammed shut. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“Never mind,” Casey managed. Alone. Out of nowhere, a rock welled up in his throat. Turning away from the dark eyes inspecting him, he took a deep breath, braced himself for the pistol whip of guilt. Yeah, direct hit, all right. “Is that it? Is she gone now?” The agent pushed off from the doorway, double checked out the window to catch a glimpse of just the top of her red hat in the dark, and worked up a shrug he didn’t feel. “We should go back.”

“Nah, not quite.”

“Listen, I’ve had enough.” And hey, he could always call her in the morning and wish her merry Christmas. That would give her some holiday comfort, at least. “I said, let’s go.”

“She forgot something,” Chris replied, settling his backside against the kitchen counter. “Watch.”

Casey scrunched up his face for a second but the big guy didn’t budge. Short of moving him, and it wouldn’t be easy, he saw no other option, so Casey went over to the window with an utterly pissed off look and waited for nothing to happen.

But it was true, what the man said did somehow happen. After a half minute of silence, her boots could be heard clacking up the porch stairs.

“Don’t even look at me like that,” Casey grumbled without turning around to peer into that smug face. “And I don’t even want to know how you knew that, so –”

Casey heard Chris suck in a startled breath (and why he did that, the agent had no idea) but a millisecond later a whooshing noise followed by a high pitched voice calling out cut through the cold air.

“What –” Casey blurted. “Mother?”

The NSA agent liked to think that for a tall guy, he could move pretty quickly, but Chris was out the doorway and down the steps before Casey could even blink. He hurried after him, his weary body forgotten, replaced by a heart thudding through his night shirt. “Easy, John, there’s nothing you can do. Remember, you’re not here.”

Casey flew down the stairs in two strides, feet pounding the snow, and fell forward more than dove to kneel in the wet slushy path that led to the car. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder – and touched the ground underneath. “Mother. Get up,” he ordered, stiffly lurching when she pulled up an arm next to him without even knowing it. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

“Oooh ... shoot ....” Mother was on her side, cupping her gushing knee. Her lip was bloody, her breath labored from the hard hit she took on the step. “Clumsy .... God ....”

“Call an ambulance!” Casey shouted at the big green oaf.

“Sorry. One of the limitations of being a ghost. No can do, man.”

“Damn you.” Casey let out a desperate growl, vowing to kick his ass for this, and ducked his head down towards his Mother. “Here, hold on ....” To what? He bent over her to try and take the bracing hand she had on the snow, to attempt to guide her up. The other hand reached out to touch her jaw, to wipe away the blood. It felt nothing. “Hold still, Mother. Something might be broken. Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

Behind him, Chris made a scoffing noise. “Like we say, pot, meet mule-headed kettle.”

“Shut up!” Casey barked over his shoulder before steering his attention back to his mother. “Come on, look at me. Let’s see. Oh, holy Christ.”

While Casey had turned, she had tried to make it up to one knee, but wavered there, her gloved fingers on the ground at the side to balance herself, the other hand holding her ribs. Her head down –

“I’ve got you, Mother –”

Like hell he did. The last thing Casey noticed before the snow took over his eyes was his mother spitting a mouthful of blood. The sticky maroon fluid spattered against the white snow like a demented Rorschach test.

The anger that had settled in his stomach flared to life.

“You were askin’ when it’s time to go? Well, now it’s time to go,” he heard Chris say over the whistling wind in his ears, his calmness a direct contrast to the miring despair making everything inside Casey want to sink into a deep, dark oblivion.

My fault.

Like he had pushed her himself.

Of course ... they want him to think that.

Maybe it was his fault.

If ... it was real.

Humph.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

Maybe this was all horseshit. A farce to jerk his guts around like tin cans on a string behind a ‘just married’ sign.

You’re a spy, for God’s sakes. Act like one. Who else is better attuned to the enemy’s manipulations?

Yeah. God, what a sucker if it took him this long to figure that out.

Mother’s fine.

She is, god dammit. She just is.

-x-

Casey was finally able focus past the blinding spots, like headlights in a dazzling blizzard. He quickly noticed his bare feet were on solid ground again and he wasted no time turning his ire on Chris. “In case you have forgotten,” he said acidly, “I’m a spy. That’s what I do for a living. I get people to do what I want by hiding the truth. Showing them what I think will motivate them. It’s called manipulation – and until ten minutes ago, I thought the NSA pretty much had cornered the mastery of those tactics, but I guess you spooks have been playing in that sandbox, too, eh?

Chris spent a moment examining him closely. “Still being the skeptic, huh?”

“Yeah.” Casey snorted. “But nice try.” He looked around to assess the landscape, more out of instinct than anything. “Oh, and by the way. Good job. Looks like you missed Burbank again. Wanna tell me where the hell this is?”

“Your next stop,” Chris said, stepping forward and straightening his robe. “I decided to bypass the usual pit stops. You should thank me.”

Casey couldn’t believe his ears. “Why in the hell should I thank you?”

“You the jealous type?”

“Jealous. Of what?”

Chris had to laugh at his confused look. “You seem like the type that would take offense to having his wife – widow – pawed over by another man. Am I right?”

Casey didn’t answer. Not really, since a low snarl of displeasure didn’t count. The implication was obvious now. Maybe in the original plan, if crazy dreams like this follow any type of protocols, Casey was meant to see the present day Kathleen, and apparently, a new beau. But that wasn’t his wife any longer. Being someone’s husband meant he was still alive, and Alex Coburn was unequivocally dead according to the paper work filed away at Quantico headquarters. The detail that he was still living, breathing, and kicking ass on a daily basis was moot. To Kathleen, they were as unmarried right now as any strangers could be.

“Thinking about it, John? Mm.” The giant apparition smiled, baring white teeth against dark skin. “She is a fine looking woman – and women have needs. Hard ... deep needs. Know what I mean?”

“Would’ve been a waste of time to drag me over there,” Casey observed as he twisted around to give the neighborhood a look before meeting his eyes squarely. “I gave up that life. And Kathleen has a right to live hers.”

“She does ... as do you.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Casey said, his voice entirely emotionless.

“Uh-huh. I see,” Chris drawled, rubbing a hand over his chin. “You have needs, too, don’t you John? A he-man like you? And seeing as the NSA set you up right nice here, it seems you’d be taking advantage of that situation.”

“Set me –?” Casey said between his teeth. “The Intersect?”

“Chuck Bartowski. He’s a person.” A thought provoked another smile, this one sly and a little lewd. “Easy on the eyes, too. Yep, I think you feel all warm and mushy about him.”

Casey raised both hands defensively. “You. Walker. His family. Buy Morons,” he listed off. “Why does everyone think I’ve developed a taste for nerd meat?” Sure, it couldn’t be disputed that the kid was ... well, decent – tall, lean muscles, okay smile, he ... could not. Would not.

“Haven’t, huh? Not that I smoke that end of the cigar, but objectively, Bartowski does strike me as a hot morsel. Wanna find out if he tastes as sweet as he seems?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Coming from you, that’s like the secret handshake into that club, eh?” Crispy grinned. “You wanna take a nibble of that kid. Admit it.”

“Ah, shit,” Casey mumbled. He had a contingency plan in place to end this conversation, because this was not going to happen. His hell bent-resolve would demand nothing less. He didn’t need to be peeled back to his insides to see what needs lay there, curled up like venomous rattlesnakes. Why did this smart ass think a mop-headed, harmless kid was the place to start? Casey would run before that.

It wasn’t fleeing. It was doing his job.

“He confuses you, doesn’t he? Giving you those ... pesky stirrings of affection ... all of that warrin’ with the orders in your head to stay away. You’re just not sure what to do with that, are you?” Chris’s brows lowered, and he let that frost for a minute. “Requires your distance, doesn’t it?”

“That’s all you got? That’s how you get all the other suckers to listen to you? Save your breath. ”

“You’re afraid you’ll get to the point where your feelings could cloud your judgement. If you would only admit you have feelings.”

“Being in this business for twenty years has taught me one thing: feelings are for suckers. For the weak-minded.”

“Always so proud ... so righteous, John. But we have business to attend to. It’s not going to stop me from finishing our mission tonight, big dog.”

Casey glared. The entire world grew colder. He continued to glare for so long that the easy bit of humor between them that Chris had tried to build up crumbled some. “Let’s get this over with.”

The burly man nodded before he turned, leading them down the lengthy brick path to a white colonial house. One quick look told Casey it was the kind of house built to humble any visitors. Every detail about the Georgian mansion was perfectly symmetrical, from the tall fluted Grecian pillars topped with carved leaves and scrolls, to the neat rows of double hung sash windows. The paneled front door looked to be solid mahogany, capped with decorative white crown dentil moldings.

Casey gazed up at the roof balustrade, trying to search his memory banks and coming up blank. With Chris barreling ahead of him, the agent continued to cautiously plod along the boxwood hedges that looked like they had been trimmed with military precision, probably with a set of toenail clippers. They were that tight and exact.

The scene through the front windows told Casey whoever was inside wasn’t celebrating half-assed this year. A gigantic Christmas tree was visible through one of the glass panes on the lower level, and as he approached, he could hear music and laughter from inside the home. He had to think hard as he searched up and down the porch again with its cement pots stuffed with matching miniature pines wrapped in plaid ribbons. Typical clichés. Hell, there was even a late model Mercedes in the driveway, black of course. But none of this was even remotely familiar.

“Ready to go inside?” Chris asked flippantly when they reached the doorway. “Hm. Might wanna get that look off your face. You know, the one that makes someone think you’re going to the dentist?”

“Not like they can see me,” Casey said, scoffing. “Yeah, nice place. Home sweet upper class, shit-doesn’t- stink home. Mind telling me who the pompous ass who lives here is?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Chris said.

“Then don’t make me come back to the middle of this pretentious wasteland just to try and make a worthless point.”

“Mm-mm, you do have a way with words. Why don’t you follow me and find out?”

Chris was already through the door, and a second later Casey felt a strong hand dig into his arm, pulling him in right behind. It was scary that he was beginning to get familiar with the sensation of being hit by a door, becoming part of a door, and then morphing out of it on the other side.

Wary, Casey immediately looked to the right where a formal study with etched glass doors was empty. To the left, a chatty crowd of all ages was gathered in a French Country meets money-bags style living room. A wide fireplace with an ornate mantle had a blazing fire warming the room.

“You made a mistake, ghost,” Casey said, glancing around. “I don’t recognize anyone here.”

Chris smiled. “Oh, but you will.”

Casey swallowed and tolerated a push down the center hallway. A thousand questions that couldn’t be quantified coated the inside of his head. Somehow, this scenario was worse than the others, only because a spy hated nothing more than the unknown. But there definitely was no escape now.

None of this means anything, he told himself. Keep walking.

They strode past several rooms off the main hall, a powder room, a dining room, and straight into a glossy kitchen. The cherry wood cabinets and stainless appliances gleamed to an almost mirror-like reflection. It only figured that, like every family get-together Casey had ever suffered through, bodies were crowded around the center island, gravitating to the appetizers and drinks.

“What? Got a little hungry along the way, so we’re crashing the party?” he asked Chris.

Chris nudged him closer into the mix of people. “For a spy, you sure can be a blind asshole,” the apparition told him. “Look again.”

“If some of these people would get the hell out of here,” Casey said, giving him a sour look. “You’d think they haven’t seen food in a month the way they’re – the hell?” Seeing someone at the stove, Casey at first squinted. When his suspicion was confirmed, his brows slowly rose.

Chris smirked. “Recognize anyone, Johnnie-boy?”

“General Beckman?”

His eyes told him that the red hair hanging loose on the woman’s shoulders, not in a tight bun, had to belong to his boss. But that was where all similarities to what he knew to be true about the tiny tyrant ended abruptly. The middle-aged woman in front of him, wearing a neat-as-a-pin emerald green pants suit, was in a lively conversation with a man and a woman. Whatever one of them said right then, it caused a broad smile to cross the General’s face.

Smile? Hell, Casey didn’t even know the General had teeth until this very moment. “Who the fuck are all these people?” the agent muttered. “Did someone accidently leave the front door unlocked?”

“They’re her family,” Chris said. “And some close friends.”

Casey could only stare at her through the crowd. Over the years, he’d envisioned a dozen different scenarios of what his boss did in her off hours. Mostly it involved living in the basement of the Pentagon, where her staff would hang her up on a closet hook at night and dust her off in the morning. Or he had guessed that she ate raw meat for breakfast and slept sitting up straight so that she wouldn’t wrinkle her uniform.

“Guess I was wrong,” Casey said. None of his presumptions even remotely came close to this. Her life might just be almost ... normal.

“So you’re telling me the General actually mated at some point,” Casey asked.

“There’s her husband. Over there,” Chris signaled. “The one pouring Bloody Marys.”

Casey angled around the granite island, avoiding being plowed through by the oblivious party goers, to get a better look at a tall, stocky man with a shock of gray hair on his head. He looked happily pleasant, actually, and not like a man who groveled or let the General use his back for a rug when she blasted through the front door. “She never told me she was married,” Casey said to himself.

“Maybe you never asked?” Chris pointed out, overhearing him. “Oh. Look over there. The two young men by the kitchen table. Serving those tiny pigs in a blanket? Man, I could use one of those right about now ....”

Casey shifted his eyes to check out the two men. One, suspiciously, was a ginger. The kids looked to be in their mid-twenties. “Yeah, what about them?”

“Twins. Her sons.”

“The General has twin sons?” Casey looked at them a little harder this time. Luckily, they got their height from their dad. After a minute, he snorted softly in disbelief. “Shoulda known she’d have to give up her spy career and become a bureaucrat when she started pooping out kids, eh?”

“Maybe you should tell her that in the next briefing, eh?”

Casey glared. Like hell he would tell her. He liked his nut sack exactly where it was, thank you much.

“Oh, and look over there – by the fireplace.”

Casey’s frown deepened as he followed Chris past the stove to the wide, arched doorway that led back to the living room. A young woman in a black dress, or rather a girl, Casey thought since she was in that awkward stage of not quite being a woman, sat on the arm of a chair chatting excitedly with two other girls. Pretty, Casey had to concede, slender yet athletic with a matching head of auburn hair –

“Wait. She’s got a daughter, too?” Casey asked, regarding her with a little more interest. “Christ. The old man couldn’t keep it in his pants, could he?”

“There you go again, John,” Chris said, infusing humor in his voice as he nudged him. “You just love being the life of the party, don’t you? You surprised about any of this?”

“Big deal. Beckman isn’t a Cyborg robot. She reproduced. Still don’t know why you brought me here.”

“Cyborg?” Chris’s brow cocked up. “You been hanging around that boyfriend of yours, haven’t you?”

“Chuck is not my boyfriend,” Casey said through gritted teeth and forced himself to look away from those amused, dark eyes. “Don’t you get it? I’m his government assigned plaything. And that’s why I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“Hasn’t been much playin’ though, has there?” Chris’s gaze dropped, passed down Casey’s torso and back up again. It only took a moment, but it was enough to make Casey’s face flush. “Not that he wouldn’t like it.”

“I hate you,” Casey said.

There was no putdown or remorse, only a shrug. “Not here for you to like me, John, but I am here for you to listen to me.” The spirit’s eyes cut toward the gathering of folks and a smile crossed his lips. “Let’s rest here a minute or so.” He looked over at an empty chair in a quiet corner and gestured for Casey to follow him. Casey had no desire to sit down so he remained standing as Chris lowered himself into the seat. It could’ve been his imagination, but the spirit seemed to be aging in front of his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” Casey asked. “Aren’t you already dead?”

“No, but I will be after tonight,” Chris explained. “I only cross this earth for one night. I’m only here for the present.”

“Then we should go.” Because if the Big Mike lookalike died, how the hell would he get back home?

“We have a minute or two ... and I haven’t answered your question yet,” Chris said.

“No, you didn’t.” Casey paused, tilting his head slightly as he considered the room full of guests and the powerful notes of ‘Oh Holy Night’ coming from a stereo somewhere. “Why am I here? And keep it short if you don’t mind. You’re starting to wrinkle up like a dead insurgent left in the sun, and I’m not carrying you on my back.”

“I brought you here because you needed to see that life isn’t black and white. You can’t just compartmentalize your existence. If you look around, I’m hoping this can feed you some insight – sort of like your boyfriend’s Intersect flashes.”

“That’s classified,” Casey said, pointing a finger in his face. An afterthought struck. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Chris chuckled. “Sure he’s not. But I’m trying to teach you something here. Letting him in ... and I’m not just talking about having sex with the man – though, God, knows that kid could use it – might open you up to things you haven’t seen before. Things you didn’t know were possible. Black and white are not your only choices, Major. There’s a whole unseen color spectrum. Reds and Greens. They come alive. But for you, John? Everything is either too bright or too dark for you to see before tonight. It’s like living life by lookin’ through a pinhole. Hear that?” Hushing, the ghost lifted his big palm and listened. “Music. Loving is ... like hearing every note, top to bottom of the scale ... the notes that scrape you all the way down ... make your insides feel like they’re quaking. Ever hear those, John?”

“Bullshit.” Casey stepped back, leaned a hip against a marble-topped side table to show his impatience with the husky specter. “There’s good and bad. Liberals and your honest, upstanding conservatives. People who want to hurt and those who are weak enough to let themselves get hurt. I didn’t spend twenty years in this business without figuring that out. Now let’s get out of here.” The room was becoming unbearably hot.

“Easy. I’m not done. Your boss has spent almost thirty years there. Looks to me like she figured out something more than you. Maybe you could learn from that. For starters, why don’t you make some use out of your government provided boyfriend? Kid’s got the hots for you. Abstinence hasn’t done you any favors either.” One hand formed a circle with a forefinger and thumb, while he poked his other forefinger up and down inside of it. “Am I right?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes, I am, but I’m the ass who’s trying to teach you something, and you’re gonna listen up before we go. The truth is we both know he’s more than a potential bed warmer. He’s potentially ... everything.”

“Everything?” Casey rolled his eyes. “Heh.”

“And you’re being an idiot for letting this opportunity pass you by, and both you and Chuck are paying for it. The hot blonde, too.”

Casey pushed himself off the table and folded his arms over his shirt. The temperature, the clinking, annoying glasses, the laughter, all of it combined to make him realize that he really did not have to put up with the insults. He was doing his job. Nobody should expect more than that, though Walker, Chuck, and even Beckman all seemed to love doing so. “Great,” he said. “Thanks for showing me that I did the right thing by dodging that bullet years ago. Appreciate the talk. I’ll see you back at home – if you just open that portal. Pretty please?”

Chris let him get two steps towards the door before the other man called out. “Couldn’t ever be honest with yourself, could you, huh?”

“About what?”

“That you wonder sometimes what you’ve missed in life. That you’re pissed at yourself for actually liking your asset. Hell, you still second guess your decision to transfer.”

Casey turned. “That’s a load of crap.”

“It’s not. You respect him for stepping up and accepting his responsibility. To help his country, even though he hasn’t a dang bit of business being out there every day. You admire the way that kid puts himself in danger for the greater good. And it makes you angry that your boss, that innocuous looking woman over there eating tasty tidbits and sipping wine, ordered you to kill him in a matter of months from now.”

Fists clenched, Casey leaned right over the chair where he sat. “Don’t you dare repeat that.”

“Huh. To who? You’re pissed because you know I’m right. I got eyes. I see you, John, and I see what’s going on in front of my god damn face. And even though it’s only been a night, I’m tired of it, so quit hiding behind the pretense you have to be the obedient killing machine and just admit it. You’re angry and you’re ... petrified for a man you’ve become fond of over the past few months.”

“I’m not angry or anything else. It’s a job.” The words were automatic.

“You are. Even though you don’t think you have the right to be. Think spies can’t feel that way. But it doesn’t matter: you’re angry and afraid either way. Admit that you care about someone other than your big dumbass self, for the love of all that is holy.”

“And then what?” Casey bit out.

Chris rose from the chair, touched a glass someone had left there on the side table like he yearned to take a taste. “And then, Major, do your friends a favor and do something about it.”

With a final grimace in Casey’s direction, he took off through the living room, and passed like a shadow into the front door. Casey watched him go in silence for a minute before he wordlessly looked around one more time and strode after him.

The entire way back down the stone path to the road, neither of them said a word. The holiest of music coming from inside the house followed the agent past a stone garden, stalks of ornamental grasses frozen in winter’s icy hand, and all the way back home.

At least, he hoped that’s where they were headed.

A minute later he realized he had thought that too soon.

-x-

“I told you already,” Casey said. “I’ve regretfully declined the invitation to this little shindig.”

“Well, looks like you’re going anyway,” the brawny apparition told him. “Now get movin’.”

“I’d rather put my thumbs through my eye sockets and stuff sharp blades in my eardrums,” was Casey’s reply, rooting his bare feet next to the fountain in the middle of the apartment complex. Because conveniently, where Chris had plopped them down for their last jamboree was the Bartowski/Woodcomb residence. The enemy behind the door was at twelve o’clock, and thanks to a few more shoves, the spirit and Casey were closing in fast.

It was daylight now, the weak December sunrays slanting over the buildings, so when Casey heard footsteps behind them, it took no effort to discern who approached from the stone archway and crossed the courtyard. Sarah Walker, dressed in green plaid pajamas under her tan trench coat and holding a dish to pass, breezed right by them and up to the door. After knocking, she gazed over at Casey’s apartment and heaved an outward sigh of gloominess. By the time the door swung open, revealing Awesome in his snowflake pajamas, Sarah’s smile was plastered back in place. Casey witnessed the typical Awesome greeting, a spine-cracking hug, and then she was ushered through the door and disappeared inside.

But Devon hesitated at the doorway by slanting a look over at Casey’s apartment, a frown pulling at his mouth. “Humph, that’s odd,” he said to himself, peering between Casey’s doorway and the arch that led to the parking lot. “Morgan said he saw Casey’s car here.”

“That little twerp is spying on me? Does he know I can kill him for that?”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Woo whee. You sound like you’re in a good mood.”

He wasn’t. After the conversation with the feisty spirit back at Beckman’s – more of a damn sermon – this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Where did the ghost get off, anyway? No one told John Casey how his supposed feelings worked.

“I don’t have moods,” Casey answered grouchily.

“So is this an extra-special brand of cranky just for Christmas Day, or is it the regular Mr. Sunshine who’s coming inside with me?”

“Bite me,” Casey muttered.

“Nice try, Major Smooth Buns,” Chris said. “My fate’s been sealed, but yours is still up in the air. Now let’s go.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

When the spirit signed to him that he needed to look up and pay strict attention, Casey saw that the man’s hair under the holly wreath had turned gray, and he had grown older, clearly older. “Well, you have eyes, and have dragged them over enough scenes tonight, but you have yet to see anything. Our time is getting short, so I’m ordering you to get inside.”

Casey looked over. No matter how he felt about crossing that threshold, the resentment, the wanting to flee, the inability to get out, he had nothing in his power to stop the specter from taking him straight into the den of Bartowskis.

“Fine. I can be back to bed in ten minutes, so no skin off of me.”

As soon as Casey had uttered the sentiment, his body whooshed through the door and he found himself plunked in the middle of the living room. Looking around, the first thing he noticed was that Ellie had gone a little overboard with the candles; they were wafting their scent from what seemed like every possible surface. The Douglas fir Casey had spotted Devon wrestling with a week ago was twinkling in one corner. The gifts in blue and silver paper had to be from Ellie, Casey figured, since they were wrapped with a ninja’s precision. There were others that looked like they had been packaged up by a three armed-squirrel that had first ravaged the paper, threw some tape over it, and called it good.

Casey made a mental note that Walker should’ve dragged the Intersect over to the gift wrapping station a few times this season.

“Jesus, they really do watch a Twilight Zone marathon,” Casey said, eyeing the TV. His stomach rumbled as he caught the aromas from the kitchen. Pumpkin pie. Freshly baked bread. He knew from his experience of being seated at that table for Thanksgiving that Ellie Bartowski was a hell of a cook, and a tiny stab of regret filled his otherwise hollow belly.

“Hey, let’s have a toast!” Morgan chirped. Standing over by the table, he picked up his glass and raised it. “To the friends and family gathered here ....”

“And to those who are not,” said a new voice, and the two occupants of the room who were invisible to the others looked over to see Chuck standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

For some reason, Casey felt his heart tripping and he drew in a breath, knowing the days of being here in the kid’s life were now numbered down to next to nothing. Chuck had not slept well, Casey suspected, since the Intersect’s curly hair had a tendency to stand up a bit wildly when he rolled around all night. Casey knew this because he had the privilege of hearing him through the surveillance. The kid’s unrest happened a lot lately.

Casey swallowed but didn’t look away from him. Chuck’s pajamas were as rumpled as his hair, his unshaved face was scruffy, and the agent wondered if the kid was losing weight. Not that he could afford it.

He couldn’t help but look at Chuck differently, a bit more scrupulously. Comparing Chuck to the teenager Casey saw an hour ago, the lanky, young man standing in front of him had come into himself. The kid had actually found handsomeness in a weirdly, nerdy way, something Casey really hadn’t noticed – or chose to ignore – until he witnessed the past. This was the Chuck who was real, and more sturdy and strong, yet impossibly breakable at the same time.

The kid smiled over at Morgan and Sarah with a reserved look on his face, eyes trying to hide a little ache, his posture tight in the shoulders. “Looks like the fun started early.”

“Indeed. A toast,” Devon repeated, holding up his glass. “To another year of awesomeness ... and more to come.”

Chuck crossed over to the counter, picked up a glass, and joined them in a circle. “I’ll toast to the holiday and getting a day off. Man, the hours at the Buy More have nearly killed me.”

Along with some weapons dealers and Fulcrum agents, Casey thought.

“Amen,” Morgan added and took a giant gulp of his bloody Mary.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay, Morgan?” Chuck asked after he lowered his glass. “That subwoofer you dropped on your foot was the Supercube 4000 plus. I mean, condensed matter traveling at that velocity and from that height would create enough torque to damage bone structure.”

“God, only Bartowski could make Christmas geeky,” Casey mumbled. Rubbing the back of his neck, he saw the others turn to the kid with looks ranging from confusion to mild exasperation.

“What?” Chuck took another sip. “So I studied a little quantum physics. It was an elective – I thought it would be fun.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “And this kid wonders why he had a hard time getting the cute boys at school to even look at him?”

Chris sidled up next to Casey. “He still wonders that.”

“Subtle,” Casey said, and he glowered at him. “I just don’t want to give the Intersect the idea that there’s hope for a future. ‘Cause there’s not. Hell, I’m doing him a favor by leaving.”

“By treating him like an asset rather than a human.”

Before Casey could shoot back a reply, Ellie put down her glass and looked from her brother to the moron. “Wait a minute. What happened?” She wrinkled her brow. “Are you okay, Morgan? Do I need to take a look at your foot?”

“My- my foot?” Morgan asked, gawping at her in wonder. “Ellie, you can look at any part of my – oof.”

Chuck actually pushed a hand over his friend’s mouth. “Um, what Morgan means is that it’s Christmas, so no baring of body parts for, er, examining. He said he’s going to make an appointment on Monday. Isn’t that right, Morgan?”

“Mm. Um-hmm,” the little man managed behind Chuck’s fingers.

“Pervert,” Casey said.

“Unfortunate decision,” Chris tacked on under his breath.

“Unfortunate?” Casey repeated with a question.

Chris just shook his head.

While Casey speculated what the spirit meant by that, Chuck stole a brie and fig crostini off a plate, stuffed it in his mouth and strolled into the kitchen. “El, do we have anymore tape?” he asked.

“Junk drawer. Bottom left hand side.”

“Thanks.” Chuck pawed through the kitchen drawer, coming out with the Scotch tape in one hand. “I still need to wrap another gift. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, Chuck, that reminds me. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, sis.” Chuck took advantage of being halted by Ellie by swiping a mini sausage and pineapple appetizer off the plate next. He plucked it off the toothpick and chewed. “Mm. Tasty. You broke down and made Morgan’s favorite.”

Ellie swatted playfully at his hand and went back to stirring something in a Crockpot. “If I recall, you like those, too. Hey, I need you to run over to Mrs. Kahkedjian’s and get the ham she let us store in her refrigerator. Thank God she’s going to her son’s house and let us use her place for overflow.”

“Uh, ham?” Chuck asked.

“Oh, Christ,” Casey murmured, searching the bewildered face of his asset. He knew that nerd in the headlights look.

Ellie immediately set down the spatula and turned around to face her brother. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “Chuck. The ham you picked up for me on the way home two nights ago? The one I texted you about twice? The same ham that I asked you to drop off at her house?”

“I ....” Chuck couldn’t find a good reply to that in his memory banks, apparently, so instead he flushed and cringed.

“Chuck, please tell me you remembered to pick up the ham,” Ellie said.

“Oh, my God, sis. I am so sorry,” Chuck began to babble. “My bad. It – it was a long night. I pulled a double shift –“

“Yeah, and helped take down a counterfeit ring,” Casey cut in.

“– and I guess ... it went completely out of my mind?”

“Chuck! How could you?” Ellie slapped a hand on her forehead and paced over to the stove and back. “A minute ago you were spouting quantum theory, and you forgot the main course?!”

“Like I said, sis, I had – things on my mind, and I am sorry.” Chuck looked between Ellie and Sarah for sympathy. “I really am.”

“Really, it’s no big deal.” Walker, of course, rallied to his side. “Ellie, we have all of these ... fantastic looking dishes you made already. No one is even going to notice the missing ham. Er, right, Morgan?”

Morgan’s mouth had been opening and closing ever since the revelation about the ham. Seeing all the scrutiny turn to him, the twit blinked and straightened. “That’s – that’s right. I’m sure we won’t even know that the smoked, honey-baked slab of meat with brown sugar morsels baked on the top is even – oh, God – missing.”

Chuck narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “Thanks, Morgan.”

“Moron,” Casey corrected to himself.

“Well, I ... I better get wrapping that last gift,” Chuck said glumly. He ducked his head towards his sister in a guilty gesture and slinked out of the kitchen.

“I’ll go help him.” Sarah mustered up a smile for Ellie and followed behind the asset.

“You, too.” Chris nodded at Casey and whacked his arm when he didn’t move. “Stay on his tail until I give you the say-so. This is why we’re here.”

Casey was too far in to even try to back out now. He rolled his eyes and followed after them. He and the apparition managed to slip into the kid’s bedroom before Walker closed the door, though he was certain the ghost would’ve shoved him through it anyway.

Chuck tossed the tape down on the bed and plopped on the quilt, a picture of dejection. Casey watched as the kid put his elbows on his knees, closed his eyes and rested his aching head in his hands.

“So I know this isn’t about Morgan’s injury.”

“Sarah, I am a complete idiot. I ruined Ellie’s Christmas.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Sarah said before Chuck could make any more holiday-killing statements. “It’s not a big deal. I meant what I said out there. We’ll have plenty of food – and it will all be delicious. Everyone’s here together, on TV, you have your, um –“

“Twilight Zone marathon.”

“Yes, that, and we should forget the spy life for a day and enjoy ourselves. Okay?”

“Not everyone is here, Sarah.”

“This is about Casey, isn’t it?” Sarah asked once she had picked up a roll of wrapping paper. Good-naturedly, she tapped his head with it, trying to get him to swivel a look up at her. “Just because he declined your invitation.”

Chuck shrugged without opening his eyes. “We both know it’s much more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that ever since Stanford,” he said, pausing to lift his head, “things haven’t changed. Guess what? Chuck Bartowski is still a failure.”

Hearing that, Sarah dropped the wrapping paper and folded her arms over her chest, giving him a hard stare. “Chuck, you are not a failure.”

“Really?” Chuck leaned back to look up at her and sighed. “I was kicked out of school in my senior year. This was after being seduced by my roommate, who – oh, by the way – happened to be a CIA agent and a giant douche –”

“Got that right,” Casey interjected.

“And now, I have a computer in my head and get to be a government lapdog chasing bad guys who want to blow up half the world.” Chuck turned his face towards the floor, biting his lip, and brought his pillow on his lap. “But the worst part of it is this: I can’t even get my government-sanctioned cover right. I’m a total screw-up.”

“That’s not true.” Sarah lowered her face to get his attention, but Chuck continued to pick away at the hem of the pillow case. “You’re smart, funny, cute –”

“Is Casey paid by the government?”

“What?” Sarah asked, her eyes sharpening.

“I can’t believe I have to explain this.” Chuck dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay, I assume that Major John Casey is being paid – handsomely, I would guess – for his services here in Burbank.”

Where the fuck was the kid going with this, Casey wondered. He was afraid he was about to find out.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, sounding guarded. Sarah crossed over to the window and peered out towards the NSA agent’s apartment. “He’s a decorated soldier, old school spy, and ... one hell of an agent, though I wouldn’t tell him to his face. So I would say that’s a safe assumption.”

“Okay, and that’s my point.” Chuck got up and moved over to the window, his eyes following Sarah’s line of sight. The light was on in Casey’s living room. “He’s paid to ... like me. And the bottom line, Sarah, is that after three months of being together, he doesn’t.” He huffed, the exhalation leaving a crease of pain in those boyish features. “So, I suppose that makes me ... the most unlikable person on the planet.”

“What the fuck did he just say?” Casey growled out, his eyes bulging.

Walker to the rescue. “Chuck, listen to me. You are the most likable person I’ve ever met.”

Chuck turned his attention back to her. “Sarah, no offense, but it’s not much of a compliment. Your compadres give me the willies at night.”

“Let me rephrase that, then,” and Sarah put a hand on his arm, “Casey can be a bit emotionally constipated at times – well, maybe ... all of the time –”

“Thanks a lot, Walker,” Casey grumbled at her.

“Can be?” Chuck rubbed a hand down his face, giving her his bet sarcastic look. “The man is the poster child for Mount Rushmore – really, I think he posed for it – inside and out! Psychotherapists are secretly holding a lottery to see who gets to his brain first, given the chance!”

Casey squinted over at the kid – he didn’t appreciate the pot-shot just because he was lacking ovaries. “Yeah? Look who has pent-up girl feelings, Bartowski.”

With no answer to that, Sarah chose to sit on the bed and pick up the small box Chuck had been getting ready to wrap. Flipping it around in her fingers, she finally tilted her head up at him. “How would you feel if Casey was ... replaced?”

“Oh, fuck. Now, Walker?” Casey’s eyes darted over to her. “She’s preparing him. Starting to test the waters by floating the idea.”

“She’s a good spy,” Chris told him. “What did you expect her to do?”

As the words sunk in, Chuck just shook his head in shock. “What?” he said, almost gasping for air. “How can ... anyone replace Major John Casey?”

“But you just said you don’t think this is working out, right?” Sarah put the box down carefully and shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to think about bringing in someone who’s more ... compatible with you, Chuck.”

Casey couldn’t help but notice that Chuck’s hands had tightened into fists. The kid pushed himself off the dresser and came to stand in front of her, a move that made Walker rise up off the bed to better meet his eyes, perhaps a subtle reminder that he was still the asset here. The CIA agent wasn’t about to crank her neck while leading him along.

“John Casey can’t leave.” Chuck kept his voice even, but the rest of his long frame seemed to shake with all of the emotions that moved inside of his chest. When he looked at her, it was with brown eyes that were more serious with intent than Casey had ever seen. “In the end, I wish he did find me likable, but ... It’s not important that he doesn’t. What is important is that he’s saved my life more times than I can count, and he’s never going to let something happen to me. He may never be my real boyfriend – no matter how much I wouldn’t mind that – but I feel safe, and right now that’s what matters, Sarah.”

That all changes when the new Intersect comes online. Then someone like me gets to be the one to pull the trigger.

As Casey stepped backwards, he felt something sick, oily, and black begin to grow in his middle, a poison eating him slowly from the inside out. He focused his eyes on a fixed point, the back of Chuck’s head – until he realized that would be the prime location for a neatly placed bullet in his cranium.

He was going to throw up. How was that for emotion, Bartowski? Got enough of it for you?

Sarah let the silence drag on for a minute before she put a hand on his arm. “I understand,” she said cautiously. Not a commitment, not acquiescence, just recognition of his opinion – which was going to mean exactly diddlysquat in one week from now.

“I’m done,” Casey said, and he turned around, crossed over the window and hopped outside. Chris let him go, an indication this little show was over.

Not quite.

“I have one more thing for you to see, Casey.” Approaching the fountain, the spirit shot him a sad look, his face now creased like old paper, and opened his giant green robe. “Them. Look down here.”

From the folds of the robe, he brought out two children: wretched, frightful, hideous. They had been hiding in there they entire time? Where youth should have given them smooth features and innocence, Casey saw small shriveled hands, twisted perverted smiles, the devil lurking in their glares.

Casey watched the two of them, clawing at the air and grinning wildly. “What ....” His eyes went wide. “Jeff and Lester?” Of course, it wasn’t the two little creeps, but there was a vague resemblance, like the men had been boiled down and reformed into beings with some leftover, salvageable parts. “Who are they?”

“Dispassion and indifference to humanity. Beware of them both, John, but most of all beware the one with dark hair. On his brow is written your doom ... unless the writing can be erased.”

“Erased?” And with that one statement, a cold shockwave ran through Casey. He blamed the night air. “How?” he barked out.

Chris’s face transformed into a mask of melancholy and resignation, which told Casey he was ready to hit the mark with enough accuracy to make his head hurt, “Only you, John,” he said quietly. “That’s up to you.”

Casey glanced over at the window where he had just left Sarah and the asset. He didn’t want to feel this absurd squeezing sense of remorse anymore. He had to leave, and hearing Chuck just now confirmed it. The agent had to get all of this emotional shit under control. If he kept them at bay long enough, they would simply go away like they always did. So much could be said about that kid in there, but it would leave emotions zipping in the air like the sharp, poignant residue of gunpowder.

That’s why they never needed to be said.

When he turned around again, he was alone in the courtyard, only the breeze kicking up and ruffling his silk kimono.

“Hey. Hey!” Casey whirled around. “Where did you go?”

Something beeped. His phone? He didn’t have his phone with him. But as the noise ceased to vibrate, he remembered Murley’s prediction, and lifting up his eyes, he saw a solemn spook, draped and hooded in grey, coming like a vapor along the ground towards him.

“Oh, hell,” Casey said, waiting as the mist drew closer.

-x- End Chapter Three All We Leave Behind Us –x-


	4. Chapter Four

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter Four

-x-

As the ghost swept closer, moving gravely and silently as fog, Casey straightened and forced himself not to back up even a half step. This spirit was the most unsettling. Not because of its appearance, an oozy, gauzy shadow from a childhood nightmare, the flicker you catch out of the corner of your eye, but rather for what it represented.

The Future, Bob Murley told him. Well, spies and soldiers like Casey didn’t bank a lot on the future. Making it out of one mission alive to get to the next was a gold star in Casey’s book. He had a book of ‘em too, twenty years’ worth. But the thought stayed wedged like a rock in the back of his brain that any operation had the potential to be his last. The work he did was dangerous shit, the shit no one else could be asked to do. That’s why he did it. To prove to God and Country that a serious, cold-school assassin did have a fundamental purpose, and that was to disentangle the world from of some of its bottom feeding, criminal debris.

Plus, it was a helluva lot of fun on the days he got to shoot big guns at bad people.

The fact that he was even still here boggled him at times. Sure, he was damn good at his job, but there had to be other forces at work. Casey liked to think that spies like him had their own angels watching over their shoulders. Not the pansy kind with harps and halos. His angel, clad in black leather head to toe, rode in on a booming Harley hog. Held an Uzi in one hand and caught bullets between its teeth.

“What are you ....” he murmured under his breath. The approaching fallen spirit had only one thing in common with Casey’s guardian angel. It was the shrouded, black garment, head to toe, which concealed its face and form and left nothing of itself visible save for one pale outstretched hand coming from the folds of the robe.

He felt its solemn presence in the cool, damp air as it seemed to separate from the darkness which surrounded it. As it closed into to his position, Casey could see it was tall and stately ... cold.

Casey shifted his stance so that he could assume warrior-mode. “I know the routine by now,” he said, squinting at the thing, “so you can dispense with all of the usual warnings and chatter. If we have somewhere to go, let’s do it.”

The creases of the robe near the top stretched in its folds, telling Casey that the apparition inclined its head. It looked like that was going to be the only answer he would get.

“At least this one doesn’t talk,” Casey grumbled, and when it extended a sleeve, the agent took hold of the black robe. It felt like ice against his hand, and then he felt himself melt into the wind.

-x-

Casey had already anticipated the enemy’s next move (because this ghost, more than the others, was an enemy). Instinctively, he knew the first stop the ghost would take him to because it was the first move he would’ve made if he was the one tossing a man through space and time to try to teach him what he didn’t need to know.

So it was no surprise when Casey found himself standing next to the steps that led up to this mother’s front porch. He looked around, saw there was less snow on the ground and not as chilly as the previous stop here. It was daylight, filling him with the sense that it was another day. A different day.

The four cars in the driveway caught his eye. None of them resembled Mother’s or his sister’s. Not one was a Ford. In fact, one was a tiny, tin can Japanese model, which told him that unless someone in his family was daring enough to break from the Family Code ... no one by the name of Casey was in that house.

“Is this next Christmas?” Casey asked, his voice far too thick. His jaw clenched. “How far in the future is this?”

The apparition waggled the top of its robe in a head shake. Casey understood this as not a refusal to answer, but that the answer didn’t matter. You won’t be here anyway, John. You never are.

Casey tried to take a deep breath. It didn’t work. The same feeling he had leaving her an hour ago, lying in the snow, threatened to crush his chest. So it was true. Time does run out. His mother, stubborn, strong-willed, wouldn’t be here forever.

“I want to go inside,” Casey said, facing his fears head on.

It gave him no reply. The hand pointed up the steps.

Casey stared dead ahead, bracing himself, and strode up onto the porch. Tension knotted his shoulders. The only thing in his way now was the front door.

All right, don’t be a pussy. Pushing it open, he found himself smack dab in the middle of a holiday get together. It immediately filled him with the oddest numbness. The physical room was the same, but that was where it ended. Even the air was different. Memories twisted on their sides, like the time his dad drove him by the bungalow the Caseys had lived in until he was twelve, before they moved out to the farm. Seeing that house with another family there, his perception was that that it didn’t quite fit in his memory banks anymore, too small, too distant.

“Who the fuck invited these people?” Casey muttered, slanting a look around at the half dozen or so occupants of the room. He didn’t expect an answer, and obviously, they lived here. Vaguely, he picked up on a plethora of buffalo plaid shirts, at least one pair of denim overalls, and maybe a mullet but he couldn’t be sure if it was on a man or a woman.

“Angel, bring a Bud for daddy,” a man called out.

“Son of a ....” Casey gauged each one carefully and rolled his eyes. “I always wondered what would happen if hippies were crossbred with rednecks. Guess that clears that mystery right up.” The revelation gave him something to grouse about for a minute so that he could avoid the inevitable.

His mother was really gone.

Casey walked over to the Christmas tree next to the fireplace. It wasn’t even in the correct location, for god’s sake. Anyone with one eye – and a few looked like they could be missing one, along with a fair set of teeth – could see it belonged in front of the window.

“God, of course. Fake. Couldn’t take a break from swilling and whittling to cut one down, eh?”

With the timing of the devil, someone answered that by cracking open a Budweiser. One of them, Mullet Man, had his feet on Mother’s coffee table. Why on earth was it still here? Why didn’t his sister take it if ... if Mother was gone?

Maybe it was too much work without getting any help from him. Maybe Maggie included the furniture in the sale. Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and walked over to the staircase. “This has to be years away ... mother is fine. It was just a tiny fall.”

The robed figure inclined its head, pausing for a moment as if observing him.

“I’ve seen enough,” Casey told it. “Did you really think I couldn’t predict this? My mother was – is almost eighty.”

The spirit stopped at the base of the stairs next to him. The pale, stringy hand pointed up the steps.

Casey skimmed the occupants of the room, now engaged in a rousing drinking game while ‘Silent Night’ played on the stereo, and welcomed the chance to escape. He wordlessly took the stairs up to the hallway and went straight to the doorway that led to his boyhood room. The door was open only a few inches and a bright white-blue light shone through the crack.

“What’s that light?” Guardedly, he put a hand on the door and pushed it open. Casey’s eyes went wide as he scanned the premise. “Mother fuck ..?” he managed. “What?”

His bedroom furniture had been replaced by a whole lot of black planter containers and horticulture lighting. “Marijuana plants? Pot?” He walked over to a tub and tried to pull out a pointy-leafed plant from the soil, but of course it didn’t move. “Criminal activity in Mother’s house? Those little cretins are using my room as an indoor cannabis lab?! “ His father, a cop for thirty years, would be rolling over in his grave. “I should go down there and arrest the little turds,” Casey continued, speaking between his teeth. “Kick their asses all the way back to Kentuc – what do you want now?!”

The apparition shook its head. Quiet and dark beside him, it pointed its outstretched hand.

“Down the hallway?” Casey looked towards the doorway and stuffed his hands in the kimono’s pockets. “Why? What’s down there?” The back room of the house used to be his mother’s sewing room, so he was almost afraid to see what the hoods had turned it into. Meth lab was not out of the question.

The long-fingered hand gestured for him to go. Quietly, Casey took the narrow hallway to the end and hesitated as his fingers circled the familiar glass knob. A thought occurred to him and the turned to the spirit with a frown. “Don’t think that I don’t see what you’re doing to me. Nice that when it’s to your benefit I can touch things ... but when I need to help my mother, you let me watch. You and your friends are manipulative little bastards.”

The dark being showed no remorse, not even a guilty tilt of the hood. Instead, it motioned to the door.

Knowing that the room had changed and every moment lingering here would draw it out, he pressed his other hand on the door and stepped inside.

It was the one thing he didn’t expect out of this stop. It was the one thing that could make his throat dry up.

“Mother’s things ... they didn’t ... touch them.” How that was the case, he had no clue, but he had to look around twice, searching. Her sewing machine was pushed in the corner, thread and bobbin still in place. Scraps of fabric, neatly cut out in shapes of triangles and blocks, sat next to the machine in waiting to be quilted together. Casey could almost see her there, pin cushion next to her hand, a pile of loose pieces of gingham, her favorite pair of sharp shears. And when he did finally close his eyes, he could go to the farthest reaches of his mind, pick up the scent of Lily of the Valley, catch just the flash of a smile while she adjusted her glasses on her nose.

Why, after everything he had been dragged through tonight, did it come down to this precise moment for the swell of emotions to hit all at once? Life tripped on, heads down, scurrying – and the smallest, most ridiculous detail – scraps of quilt, for Christ sakes – would do it. Took this to gut him. Anger, disgust with himself, and as ever, the overwhelming sense of regret of missing time smacked him around good this time.

“I want to get out of here,” he said. Outwardly, he made a dismissive gesture, shaking his head like he wanted no part of this place any longer. “There’s nothing left here for me to see.”

Next to him, he could feel the unseen eyes looking at him keenly. It made his skin prickle and feel very cold.

But perhaps satisfied Casey had suffered enough here, the spirit held out a draped black sleeve, and in the next beat, the agent saw the wide span of empty tree branches under his bare feet.

-x-

“You know, once upon a time, Chuck wouldn’t dream of standing me up for Christmas,” Ellie said as she slid a few fingers between the slats of the blind. Spreading them wider allowed her to scope out the courtyard. “He’s not next door, either.”

“He’ll be here, El.” Devon edged over to the oven and peered inside. “Come over here and take a look at this, will you, babe? I think the turkey might be ready.”

“What excuse did he make this time, anyway?” Ellie huffed, dropped the blinds, and turned around to face Devon. “I wish I was up when he left.”

“He said he had pulled an unlucky card. Something about being stuck with having to do inventory before the Christmas returns start flowing in.”

“On Christmas Day?” Ellie deliberately made a sour face. “What kind of a sweat shop is Big Mike running, anyway?”

Casey was frowning as he thought about it. Walker could be a bit of a pushy slave driver, but even she seemed to have a soul. He had to wonder what was making her keep the Intersect away from his family on Christmas.

“Relax, El, he’ll be here. Hey, white or red,” Devon asked, holding up two bottles of wine.

“Does he know dinner’s at five?”

“I reminded him.” Devon wobbled the bottles to get her attention. “So?”

“Oh. White, sweetie.” Ellie paced across the floor in front of the tree in silence, giving Casey a chance to scope out the place. It was ... quieter than the present day Christmas he had visited. No Twilight Zone marathon, no carols on the stereo. Just ... a somber mood, like the air was heavier somehow. It could’ve had to do with the fact Casey stood close to the apparition, black robes and icy air, but his intuition told him it was a much greater force than that.

The agent glanced over at the figure for any clue or gesture, but the hood didn’t move or flutter. He hated not being able to look it dead set in the eyes, but the spirit kept them under the folds of fabric.

Casey got the hint. There was more to see, so they weren’t going anywhere yet. He shifted his focus between Devon and Ellie as she came to a stop by the sofa.

“Devon, be honest. Do you think this still has to do with losing his friend? That he can’t stand the thought of being here this year ... celebrating ... when he feels like someone has kicked a hole into his chest?”

Devon sighed and strolled over to stand in front of her, settled his hands on her hips. “Babe, I’m sure that has something to do with it,” he said gently. “Listen. Chuck went through a lot this year. No one takes loss well, but everything seems to hit your brother a little harder. He just needs time. You’ll see. By next Christmas ... well, he’ll still miss him, but he’ll be on the way to healing, too.”

Beside him, Ellie let out a noise between a choked sob and an exclamation, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. “But what if he doesn’t get better? What if he’s always hurting? I... promised myself I would always be there to take care of him ... and I’m not doing a great job.”

“Ellie ....”

Now, her hand shifted so that is was cradling her face. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she knuckled it away. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drag everyone down at Christmas.”

Bringing her hand up like that made something catch the light. “Heh. Look at the size of that rock,” Casey said, eyeing the finger on her left hand. “So it looks like Devon finally gave up on dodging the old bullet.”

Ellie was quiet as she pulled away from Devon. Going into the kitchen, she went through the motions of checking the potatoes, the temperature of the turkey, taking the pumpkin pie out of the oven. She was perhaps too wrapped up in her own thoughts to dredge the topic a little deeper, which Casey didn’t mind.

He was doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Over and over, during his short stint here in LA, Walker had told him that the kid had fallen in hard lust for his handler. Casey wasn’t about to call it love. Too short of a time. Too tall of a wall. Even once, right before Halloween, the blonde agent played an audio recording she had captured of a conversation between Morgan and ... the asset. Hell, the kid would be utterly humiliated if he even had an inkling she betrayed him on such a personal level, and that Casey had gotten an earful of Chuck secretly discussing the way his boyfriend filled out a lederhosen and fitted shirt.

Apparently, the Intersect approved of the government’s selections: the cover outfit and the man they had stuffed into it.

Why had the kid trusted him? Worse, much worse – why was the Intersect still brooding, almost mourning over Casey’s abrupt departure?

Sarah should’ve preoccupied him until he didn’t have to think so much. It was her fault.

In the kitchen, Ellie grabbed a clean dishtowel from the drawer to dry her eyes, shaking her head when Devon tried to take the towel and dry them for her.

“El, he’ll be okay. You’ll see. Your brother is stronger than you think.”

It seemed to take a Herculean effort, but Ellie fought back the tears and swallowed hard. “He always has been. He was the one who got me through all of that – my mother, my dad.” She smiled, a bit sad, and went back to her routine of pulling down platters and bowls. “Chuck never knew it, but he was the one who held us together just as tightly as he thinks I did. I couldn’t walk away from my responsibility –”

Casey physically flinched. Only one of them was walking away from my responsibility.

“– but he was always the strong one, too. Just in his own way.”

“He’ll be here, El. Have faith in him,” Devon said firmly. “Need any help?”

Casey turned his gaze on the robed apparition. “Where’s Chuck?” he asked, a rough thread in his voice. “Why the hell is he not here?”

The spirit shook its head, creasing the folds as it moved. Pointed to the window.

“I want to see ... him.” Casey abruptly turned and stalked over to the door. “You’re going to take me to Chuck.”

He made it sound like an order, like he had some control, though he knew that was exactly what the spirit intended to do next whether he acted like a giant asshole about it or not.

-x-

What had happened? He didn’t remember it looking like this.

The first thing he had noticed after being physically slung through the glass window out front (without hearing it shatter in a zillion tiny shards) was that the corn dog emporium was no more. From the brief glimpse Casey managed to get, he picked up on yogurt machines backlit with a wall in green and red hues for the holiday. The containers of corn dog toppings had been replaced with sprinkles, chopped fruit, and gummy bears.

Maybe the new guy put his foot down. He wasn’t willing to be Burbank’s premier wiener guy every day if he had to be Chuck’s sausage of choice at night.

Casey felt a growl well up in his throat, though he had no idea why that pissed him off so much. It wasn’t as if the corn dogs were that bad ... and the Intersect ... at the right angle, if you took more than a passing glance at his long legs, dark eyes, and smile ... well, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, either. Maybe being the wiener guy wasn’t Casey’s first choice for a cover, but the job was too cushy not to just suck it up, buttercup.

Then why are you not sucking it up? a voice in his head popped up.

Because his situation was different. Casey was a soldier. He didn’t belong here.

“Where are we going?” Casey had to ask, following the black robe to the back of the shop. “Why here?”

It motioned to follow him into the walk-in refrigerator.

“Did the first two boogie men tell you I have no patience for this shit?” the agent went on, but he stopped at a steel door that wasn’t there before. Typically, he had to duck a little to get through a hidden door, but once he crossed through, everything changed.

“What is this place?” Casey scanned the vast space from the top of a metal staircase. Cold, sterile shelves of fruit and yogurt in gallon drums were now behind them. He found himself standing in a moodily lit military bunker – but not the futuristic Star Wars version that would come from the kid’s wet dreams. This one actually seemed like an underground war room, all bright blue lighting, raw brick walls, steel and concrete clad everywhere else. They headed down the staircase or rather over it, since the sensation was more akin to hovering until he felt his feet land on the cool, cement floor.

“Looks like the government finally ponied up for a top notch operation,” Casey observed, stepping closer to banks of monitors and racks of supercomputers. To the agent, it was just a mass of flickering tiny lights, cooling circuitry and control panels. “Bet the nerd gets weak in the knees just standing close to these babies.”

Hastily, remembering he was indeed here to find the Human Intersect, Casey angled around the bottom of the open steel staircase to a row of LED display screens and the motherboard of all high-powered desktop computers.

The NSA agent stopped dead. “Chuck?”

The kid didn’t turn around, of course. Just like every other stop on this crazy sleigh ride, he couldn’t see or hear Casey.

“Nothing. Nada. Hm, how do you say no in Chinese, I wonder?” Chuck asked wearily. He stopped to rub his tired eyes and went back to skimming over a computer screen. “Why does someone think this is important? Sheesh.”

Casey came closer. The Intersect was seated in one of the wheelie office chairs, tapping his way through a file that Casey couldn’t make out yet. Though he was still a good ten feet away with his back to him, Casey observed the tight line of Chuck’s shoulders. Strange. He could almost feel the vibration of the kid’s distress in the air. What was that all about?

He sauntered in, intending to find out what was going on.

Suddenly, Chuck pulled out his phone, read a text, and pushed two fingers against his eyelids.

“I know, El ... I know....” he mumbled to himself. But he didn’t get up and leave, either.

If Casey didn’t know better, that lanky body of his seemed jittery, and hell, even one of his legs bounced up and down, a habit he had when he was uneasy.

“Bartowski looks like someone stole his Xbox for Christmas,” Casey said, coming over to lean a hip on the desk next to his asset. Former asset. From a brief inspection of the kid’s features, Casey knew something was up. Chuck’s mouth didn’t show the usual knack to flick on a quick smile at will. In fact, his face was white, strained lines around his eyes.

“Another dud,” Chuck said. “How many more are there?”

Honestly, Casey thought, assessing him from his unruly hair, rumpled t-shirt and jean clad legs, he looked exhausted. Almost beat-up, like a punching bag that had lost some stuffing. “What do they have you doing, anyway?” he asked, looking at the screen and then the apparition.

Next to him, the spirit remained as deathly still as it had been since pulling Casey out of the apartment.

Ignoring it, Casey studied the kid a little more intently, slightly startled and not at all thrilled by the wearing down of his boyish appearance. “What happened to you, Chuck?” He gritted his teeth when he couldn’t get an answer. “Not like you to let the government knock you down.”

“Hey, Chuck, having any luck over there?” A voice behind Casey had both men straightening and turning. “Any flashes?”

Casey’s jaw dropped until he remembered himself. “You have got to be kidding me ....”

Maybe accustomed to seeing the man shirtless, (who is that hulking asshole, anyway?) Chuck recovered first. “Hey ... hey there,” he said. “Did you, um, have a good work-out?” Odd, but the kid’s voice was stiff. He pushed his wheelie chair around and turned away from the computer monitors, folding his arms over his t-shirt. “Maybe we can wrap it up here and go home now. I’m beat.”

Casey still hadn’t recovered. For a long moment, he simply stared at the newcomer without blinking. At length, after seeing more than enough, he felt himself automatically narrow his eyes at the young man. Instincts screamed Major Casey had been replaced by a Major Douche. The new handler was a contrast of pale skin and black. Black hair, black eyes, and black gym pants in size extra-long dick head. He had a face and physique that would cause both women and men to walk into walls since they’d be so busy gawping like idiots at the kid’s government hand-selected specimen.

Casey grunted. Great, the new handler/cover boyfriend was one of those East Coast Ivy League supermen Ken dolls. Way to go, NSA.

“Are you done with the daily flash reports?” the Plastic Stud-Man asked.

“Well ... um, not quite.” Chuck’s eyes cut down to the ground guiltily before he huffed and looked up. Why the hell did he seem nervous? “B-but there doesn’t seem to be anything in these,” he said, stammering a little as he tapped his noggin. “The Intersect’s just coming up empty today, I guess.”

“Mm. Unfortunately.” The agent/fake boyfriend eyed him curiously for a second before he crossed his arms over his bare chest and slowly swaggered over to the side of the desk. He leaned his hip on it in the same way Casey had a moment ago. “Interesting, isn’t it?” he said, browsing over the screen before tilting an eyebrow at Chuck. “It seems to have been doing that a lot lately. I wonder why.”

Casey’s eyes, already narrowed, drew down to angry slits. “Give the kid a break,” he said. “And while you’re at it, super sleuth, would it be too hard to find a god damn shirt to put on?”

Apparently, the agent with a swoop of black hair over his brow had just wrapped up a rigorous work-out from somewhere deep inside the recesses of the iron-clad base. Sweat glistened and rolled down his chest to his washboard abs. The guy had muscles on muscles, the rounded, perfect kind that looked like he had been inflated by a mysterious force of nature, and with one pinprick to his pectoral muscle, he’d zoom around the room like a rampant zeppelin.

Casey had an immediately dislike/distrust of the man. And he really wished he had a safety pin in his pocket.

“Um, listen, Shaw, I wish I knew what was going on, okay?” Chuck shook his head and slouched back in the chair, sprawling his legs out in front of him. “I can’t force myself to flash if there’s nothing there. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“Chuck, we’ve talked about this before,” the agent said, and even a deaf man could hear the smugness in his voice, “You’re to call me Daniel. All the time, not just when we’re with your family and friends. It helps reinforce the cover so that you don’t slip up. Besides, after what we’ve ... shared ... I like to think it’s more than a cover. Hm?”

Chuck bit his lip for a moment, as if debating how much he should argue the point. Finally, he just shrugged, a little “I guess so” movement. “Okay, Daniel, the Intersect has a will of its own these days. And I need good Intel in order to flash – something that isn’t in any of these files. Just a lot of Mandarin mumbo jumbo.”

“I think it’s more than that.” Instead of backing off, Shaw tapped a few fingers on his own biceps, pondering, before making a decision. Since the Intersect refused to look up at him, the man stepped between Chuck’s outstretched legs, knocking the kid’s knees out wider. Reaching down, he then threaded his fingers into the nerd’s curls. “What’s wrong, Chuck?”

“N-nothing.” Chuck tried to duck his head away from the touch, but the strong fingers in his hair tightened. “Ow, okay?”

Shaw rolled his eyes at him and used the hold to tip Chuck’s head up, and now the kid had no choice but to stare up at him. “We both know that doesn’t hurt. Now talk to me.”

Casey extended an arm onto the desk, muscles bunched up with tension. “Hey. Twat head. The rough treatment of the Intersect isn’t necessary.”

Chuck scowled but he held still rather than lose a few of those curls. “Sure, I’ll just make up stories, I guess,” he offered sarcastically, “since apparently I’m four, grounded for the day in a government bunker, and I can’t be trusted even when I’m telling you the truth.”

“What’s up with this asshole?” Casey asked himself.

Shaw leaned over him and looked fixedly into the kid’s startled eyes. Casey thought he’d never stop dripping sweat on Chuck’s jeans. Funny thing was, with this piece of Grade A jockstrap nearly on top of him, the kid still refused to let his eyes take a sneak peek at all of those chest muscles.

Strange. Casey had caught Chuck red-faced more than a few times when Casey returned from the shower after pummeling the shit out of a boxing dummy, or coming in from a run with his shorts sweat-soaked and glued to his ass. He knew what the asset liked to look at.

So why was the kid not interested in this guy?

“I have a suspicion that this Intersect drought of yours has nothing to do with bad Intel,” Shaw said.

“Really? Then what is it?” Chuck gave him a ‘duh’ look. It was with more cynicism than Casey ever remembered. “Seriously, if Fulcrum is hiding something in these files, the coding is a thing of genius. Oh, wait. I have an idea. Why doesn’t Beckman try to recruit some of them back into her fold since they seem this gifted?”

“Careful, kid,” Casey said softly. “Do not mess with this guy. He’s a trained assassin. Cover boyfriend or not, you don’t know what he’ll do to a smart-mouthed, skinny nerd.”

Shaw’s face never flickered or gave away any signs he had lost patience. He continued to look completely genial, right before an arrogant little smile curled his lips. “This isn’t about the Intersect, is it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Shaw gave Chuck’s head a little tip up and down, a move to show who was in charge, and finally let go. “You haven’t been over to the apartment in a while, Chuck.” He lowered his hand to touch the kid’s bottom lip. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding me? My bed?

Chuck jerked his head back. Casey saw he took a long time to work up a swallow. “I – I just have been under a lot of pressure, you know? With Fulcrum getting closer, Ellie getting suspicious – and with the wedding plans? I ... thought it would be best to take a time-out for a while, that’s all.”

Casey raised an eyebrow at that. Something was definitely very, very wrong in the underground base. If Casey had been tossed in here tonight to sniff out something, even Intel that wasn’t Fulcrum-related, he already knew this was going to make him want to punch something. Hard.

“I think we both know what this is about,” Shaw said.

“We do?” Chuck asked. His leg began to bounce slightly again.

“Don’t play dumb,” Shaw warned, a little more sharpness in his voice. More of the charming personae fell away. The other man’s hand clamped down on Chuck’s knee. “Stop.”

Chuck glanced down at his hand, obviously unwanted where it was. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your attention.” Shaw brought both hands over to uncross the kid’s arms, and catching his wrists, the agent held them down to the arms of the chair. “I don’t think this has anything to do with trying to keep your mind on work and your family for now.”

Chuck scoffed, though Casey could see his lean arms go taut under that grip. “Yeah, like I’m going to keep sleeping with you when my sister has decided you’re not the man for me? You have listened to the surveillance, Daniel, so I know you’ve overheard her little heart to heart discussions with me. Ellie doesn’t like you.”

“I have listened,” the man agreed, frowning down at Chuck. One hand began a gradual ascent up the kid’s forearm, dragging along his skin until he reached the short sleeve. Pushing the impediment out of the way, he wrapped his palm around Chuck’s upper arm. “But I think it has more to do with this.”

“To do with what?” Casey heard himself ask aloud. He wasted a glance at the spirit, which hadn’t moved, and darted his eyes back to Chuck. “What is that meathead talking about?”

“I’ll admit,” the man went on in a measured, low voice, “it was a little rough the last time ... but what can I say? I was hoping you’d find out you like it when things aren’t ... well, always gentle.”

“Let. Go,” Chuck said, shuffling his feet. Though he had lifted his head with some stubbornness, he also seemed to be pushing back into the chair. “I mean it, Shaw.”

Shaw ignored him, stayed where he was, lodged between the kid’s knees. “It’s been almost a month, Chuck. Why didn’t you come over to the apartment, back up to my bed again? I could’ve showed you how to like it. Or ... at least get used to it.”

“... the hell is he talking about?” Casey ground out. The conversation was so out of place, so off the wall unexpected, that even Casey needed a nudge to get his brain grappling round it.

Well, the apparition finally moved. Something grabbed the back of his kimono. Casey jumped as he was pushed to stand closer to a position next to both men where he could get a view into the kid’s brown eyes. Chuck was glowering up at Shaw. Fury, exhaustion, and desperation were there, but Casey saw evidence of something far more disturbing. Fear was plain on his face.

“What are you afraid of, kid?” Casey whispered. Not getting an answer, he looked down where Shaw was holding him. Under those powerful fingers clamped down on Chuck’s bicep were the last, fading, purple ugly marks of what had to have been one hell of a bruise a few weeks ago.

Casey felt each bruise punch through him. His fists clenched. “He’s ... abusing him?” he rumbled in a deathly growl. He swung his head from the discolored upper arm to Chuck’s face to Shaw’s haughty look. “You’re ...one of those closet sexual abusers who gets off on hurting partners? Someone you think is a little weaker?”

“I don’t get used to it. Ever,” Chuck told him hotly. “And honestly, Daniel, I regret even going to your apartment in the first place.”

“Oh, you’re not the only one who’s gonna feel some regret, sport,” Casey said, automatically taking off his kimono. He wanted so badly to believe that suddenly he would be yanked into this reality, but logic sat heavy in the front of his mind. Still, it was his body reacting and he couldn’t completely eradicate the hope. The hope that he could slam his fist into that perfect face and mash it up a little or a lot.

“You need someone to push around, big man?” Casey tried to elbow him away. Nothing happened. “Wanna start here?”

“Listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once, Chuck. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m not a bad guy. Roughing you up was a government-sanctioned move to gain your compliance when ... other methods didn’t seem to be working. When the Intersect seemed to be failing. You’ve heard of it before haven’t you? First the carrot ... then the stick?”

“Know what, asshole? You need to stand down.” Casey’s gaze bore into him. “I’m bigger, stronger, and a hell of a lot meaner than you’ll ever dream of being. Don’t fuck with him today. Or ever.”  
“You expect me to believe that, Shaw? Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Chuck said, glaring up at him. A second later, he grunted when Shaw increased the pressure on his bruised arm, sending him backwards in the chair. The kid squeezed his eyes shut in pain. “Ow! Geez, Daniel!”

“Sorry, Chuck. I only do things for your own good.”

“That’s what you all say. Now, do you mind? You’re hurting me!”

“Damn you.” Though he should’ve stopped to think about the futility of it all, natural urges kicked in. Casey lashed out with a fist that should’ve cracked the other spy in the jaw and sent him sprawling across the floor.

His hand swished harmlessly through the air.

“The higher-ups might be right about you, Chuck,” Daniel continued, leaving his hand where it was. “Maybe you just needed reminders from time to time on the protocols of the handler/ asset relationship.”

“Because it’s working so well? Now let go!”

“Or you’ll do what?” Shaw continued to gaze down at Chuck with those intent, black eyes. Casey held his breath, wondering if he would punch the kid for even trying to put up a fight. “The Intersect will start working again. Trust me, okay? I know it’s hard for you to believe me sometimes, but you have potential, Chuck, to be so much more.”

“Shaw. Don’t.”

For ten humming, heart-pounding seconds, Shaw just held him there in the chair. There was a hint of sadness on his face, but he finally conceded with a nod and released his hold on the kid’s arm. “Very well. I’m sorry.”

Chuck immediately dug his heels in and wheeled off to the side to put a little distance between them. “Can I go now? Ellie’s been pinging me every five minutes for the past hour.”

“She hasn’t seen them, has she?” Shaw asked, his eyes shifting down to indicate the bruises.

“Did you hear what I said? Do you really think she’d let me keep dating someone who ... thinks he can take advantage of me?” Chuck rubbed his arm and pulled his knees back together. “And oh, by the way, you’d be dead if she knew – so rest assured, she doesn’t.”

“Good.” Shaw actually had the audacity to grin as he ran a thumb down the kid’s cheek. “There are some things that need to be –”

“Secrets? Yes, I’m well aware of the concept,” Chuck muttered.

“Interesting that you chose not to tell Sarah, either? About my slight indiscretion a month ago.” The agent touched Chuck’s upper arm before he could jerk out of reach. “Maybe you didn’t mind?”

“Well, for starters,” Chuck shot back at him, “if I told her, you’d be breathing out of a tracheotomy hole in your throat that she put there with a rusty blade. So, no, I didn’t tell her.”

“Why not?” Shaw smiled down at him. “I’m curious.”

Chuck craned his neck to give him a special kind of dirty look. “Beckman,” he finally admitted. “She’s ... threatened me before. The General is on the brink of closing down the operation – and if she does, I go into lockdown. No more Ellie, no more life. No finding my dad ... or getting this thing out of my head.” He stopped to clear a lump out of his throat. “That means I can’t take the risk of disrupting anything ... even ....”

“Us?”

“There’s no us, Daniel. It’s not real ... not anymore.” Chuck angled around in the chair to tap a few keystrokes, close down the file. “I’m packing up for the evening. Oh, and I texted Sarah ten minutes ago. She’s picking us up.”

“That works out perfectly,” Shaw said, nodding at him. Using the towel around his neck to wipe away the sweat, he walked over to the conference room table and picked up his cell phone. “Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

At first, Chuck ignored the off-hand comment by stuffing papers into his messenger bag. But after a moment of letting the words hang there in the air, both Casey and Chuck tilted their heads in a bit of confusion. Casey deliberately rounded on the agent while the kid turned in his wheelie chair.

“What ... exactly do you mean by that, Shaw?” Chuck asked, his eyes squinting. “What plan?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Casey strode forward to stop right next to Shaw, close enough to smell his perspiration. “What the hell are you up to?”

“Well, it seems you’re not the only one capable of guarding secrets,” Shaw said, keeping an eye on Chuck, who hadn’t moved.

“That you’re a giant douche?” Chuck and Casey asked at the same time.

“And that attitude of yours hasn’t changed either, I see.” Shaw shook his head. “I want you to come with me, Intersect. It’s time to go home.”

“Don’t call me that,” Chuck said, straightening. “I am going home.”

Casey felt the world go still, except for his heart ramming the inside of his chest. His spy instincts, keeping him skirting the edge of death too many times to count, kicked into hyper-speed. Whatever was happening here, he had no idea, but his senses screamed that this could be beyond dangerous and the kid was a sitting duck.

“Bartowski, listen to me,” Casey growled out between his teeth. He walked right up to Chuck and leaned over him in the chair. “I don’t like this. I want you to get out of here. Now. Call Walker. Lock yourself up in a room somewhere until she gets here.”

“Look, Shaw.” Chuck, keeping a wary distance, rose out of the chair and held his hands out defensively. “I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, and frankly, I’m not waiting around to find out – but you can consider your official invitation to Christmas revoked. Or un-invited or whatever means you’re not welcome in Ellie’s apartment. I had to just about beg her anyway to allow you in the first place, and only for the cover.”

“Chuck –”

“And here’s another flash for you, Shaw. Sarah will be here in a second, and I’d rather not ruin Christmas by telling her this little romance is off until tomorrow. Because you can trust me – it’s off.”

“Balls, Bartowski. Good for you,” Casey said with an impatient eye roll. He tried to take hold of Chuck’s arm and got another handful of air. “But you picked the damn wrong time. Now turn around and get down that hallway. There has to be a holding cell or interrogation room. I want you to get yourself away from him!”

Standing next to the table, Shaw took a moment to leisurely wipe away at his chest and arms. Then he tossed the towel over a chair – and laughed to himself. “I never understood why Bryce chose you.”

“What?” Chuck stared first at him and then darted a look towards an armory under the staircase. “Why are you bringing up Bryce?”

“Oh, shit,” Casey breathed.

“Look at you, Chuck. You’re defenseless. Weak. Who would think you’re a suitable candidate for something so precious in your head.”

Chuck wet his lips. “I have Sarah to protect me.” He began to edge towards the stairs.

Casey cringed when the apparition turned its hooded head to him. Not you.

“Stay put, Chuck. I know precisely what you’re thinking.” Shaw reached down to the table and raised a gun. “If you make a move towards the weapons hold, I will have to hurt you.”

“What do you want, then?” Chuck asked. “Besides talking my ear off with insults.”

“... the fuck, Bartowski!” Casey came right up to his face, nearly barking in his ear. “What the hell is wrong with you? Any part of run your ass up those stairs or anywhere too difficult for a nerd to understand?!”

“When I said we’re going home,” Shaw explained evenly, reaching for another gun on the table. “I meant that you’re coming quietly to your new home.” He checked the tranquer and then looked over at Chuck. “With me.”

“New home?” Chuck tried to back up, but his foot hit one of the desk legs. “I’m good with the one I have, but thanks.”

In answer, Shaw smirked and pointed the tranq gun. “I mean the new ... Fulcrum home that we’ve prepared for the Intersect, Chuck.”

“Wh – ” The wind seemed to be knocked from Chuck’s lungs in one frightening, intense whoosh. It was a name he was obviously well acquainted with by now. “You ... You’re ... but you can’t be ...” He continued to blink and try to catch his breath. “Oh, my God.”

“Surprised?” Shaw asked, stepping around the table and still leering at Chuck. “You see, it’s been an advantageous year for Fulcrum. But after all this time in Burbank, gathering Intel, harvesting data from the NSA’s database–“

“You little motherfucker –“Casey broke in.

“– it became evident that the Intersect was no longer viable in the field.”

“Shaw, what are you talking about?” Chuck goggled at him blankly like his brain had ground to a halt. Casey recognized the note at the edge of his voice as panic, but there was nothing he could do about that. “You c-can’t be Fulcrum – I would’ve flashed on you.”

“I highly doubt that.” Shaw nodded towards the bank of computers. “Who provides you with your files every day, Intersect? It’s me. Do you really think I can’t redact any incriminating triggers?”

“But – but – it can’t be!” Finally able to move, Chuck scuttled backwards, knocking into one of the chairs at the conference table. “It’s not possible.”

“Chuck, stay where you are.” Shaw signaled with the gun. “I’m afraid I need you to take off your watch now.”

As soon as the gun was pointed at him, Chuck automatically shoved his hands up in the air. Casey watched as he peeked off to the side, obviously weighing the chance of pressing the panic button on his watch before getting tranqued. “Shaw, please don’t do this. Please don’t.”

Shaw’s mouth firmed, shifting into something uglier. “If you don’t remove your watch by the count of three, I will shoot Agent Walker as she walks through that door. Your choice, Intersect.”

It was the best opportunity the kid had to run since he was fast on his feet, Casey knew, and that was the one thing that could save him. But instead he stumbled back, his hands going higher in the air. “Please. Not – not Sarah. I’ll do what you want. Anything. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Then take it off.”

“Chuck, how many times did I tell you that you’re the priority,” Casey told him. “Don’t you dare give it to him – hey. Hey!”

Chuck only hesitated for a second before unlatching the watch from his wrist, tossing it down on the table. “There. You have it.”

“Now your phone, Chuck.” Shaw motioned with the gun again. “Take it out of your pocket and set it on the table like a good boy.”

Casey ran a hand through his hair and began to pace like a trapped bear. “God damnit, kid, punch him. Hell, I don’t care, slap him! You should be halfway down the hall by now.” When nothing else worked, Casey tried to grab Chuck’s elbow. “Idiot! He’s going to take you away.”

Chuck took another step back and lowered one hand. “Here. You can have it,” he said, tossing the phone on the table next. It clattered and slid over to Shaw, where the man could then scoop it up in his hand. “You do know ... she’ll kill you for this. I don’t always approve of her methods, but in this case I might be talked into it.”

Shaw slammed the butt of the gun down and watched as the phone exploded into a dozen pieces. Then he shrugged. “Agent Walker will be eliminated before she can cause any harm to the operation.”

“Wh-what?!” Chuck choked. He looked like he was ready to wet himself.

“Why in the hell did this surprise you, kid? Don’t you know by now you never, ever trust an agent who has been recruited by those sick bastards?!”

“But – but you promised! You said if I gave you my watch and phone, she’d be safe!”

“Ah, hell. Chuck, by God and all that is holy,” Casey said, coming right up into his face, “do you think these guys tell the truth?”

“And you trusted me?” Shaw chuckled humorlessly, somehow making Casey hate him more. “I’ll need to remove the microchip from your neck, but I’ll wait until after I tranq you. See? I can be a nice guy.”

“I – I was microchipped?!”

Shaw winked. “Good thing you sleep soundly, lover-boy.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Casey said, “if you don’t turn around and carry your skinny ass all the way to the holding cell or wherever you can hide, I’m gonna kick it so hard you’ll be – ”

“That’s the problem with you, Chuck. This is why the Intersect needs to be removed and placed safely in a person who can protect it. A person who knows how to use it to its full potential.”

“Don’t do th-this, Shaw,” Chuck stuttered. “This isn’t you, is it? We were ... friends, okay? You’re not a traitor. You ... can’t be.”

“Hate the thought of sleeping with the enemy?” Shaw’s eyes tracked up and down the kid, and he put on that knowing little smile again. “Don’t worry, Chuck. That was one part of this assignment I actually enjoyed. You’re very good in the sack, you know, once you learn what a man wants. A real quick study. I am going to miss that.”

“You’re an asshole,” Chuck told him, still gagging on his own saliva and fear.

“Got that right,” Casey added. “Now kick him in the nuts and get out of here!”

“But I’ll be the one who has the Intersect,” Shaw went on coolly, “so in one way or another, this time I’ll have you in me – instead of the other way around.”

Casey wrinkled his nose at the lewd comment. “Know what I’d like to get in you? A bullet.”

“Shaw, please, keep Sarah out of this.” Chuck’s hands began to shake. “It’s me you want –”

Shaw sighed. “We have a plan. Sorry, Chuck. It doesn’t involve her, so –”

“Chuck? Daniel?” A feminine voice rang out from behind the steel door. All three men jerked to attention and lifted their heads to look up the stairway. After a pause, the pounding on the heavy security door repeated itself. “There’s something wrong with the door. Can you open it from your side?”

“Sarah,” Chuck whispered, “oh, my God,” and now he sucked in a huge gulp of air, ready to shout –

Shaw struck out and grabbed Chuck’s raised hand at the elbow. He twisted, and in a move that was too fast for even Casey’s senses, locked the kid’s arm behind him, forcing his head down on the table. The crack had to send pain all the way through Chuck’s side as Shaw pushed down hard on his elbow and shoulder, locking him into a prone position.

“Get up, Chuck!” Casey ordered, stalking up to the men. He shot a glance up to the door where Walker was still pounding. “Yell! Do anything!”

Chuck brawled on a bit clumsily and surprised Shaw by sliding down the table top all the way to a chair. He turned it around with his legs, dug one foot into the floor, and kicked it at Shaw’s knees while he tried to half-tackle the agent. It was sloppy and had to wrench his body like nothing else, but it did catch Shaw off-guard. They both tumbled to the floor. Shaw’s grip loosened enough for Chuck to pull his arm free.

“Shit, kid, you were paying attention when we covered that. Now get out of there!” Uselessly, Casey attempted to take Chuck’s shoulder and push him. “Walker’s gotta move – she’s not –”

“Sarah!” Chuck lurched up, scrabbling for purchase in a brief but furious wrestling match. Somehow, he ended up putting the table between his body and Shaw.

But even as the larger man rounded towards the kid, the Fulcrum agent lifted his arm to speak into his two-way comm watch. “Team, move in,” he said, calm as can be. “The target is at the door.”

“Shaw – no! Stop –“ Chuck had a split-second to process the order. “Wh-what are you doing? What team?”

“Chuck? Are you –” On the other side of the door, they could almost hear Walker swing around and suck in a breath. “Who – who are you?”

“Sarah, it’s Shaw! He’s Ful– “ A punch to the gut sent Chuck doubled-over on the table. He managed to get in a weak kick, and Shaw actually let him slide a few feet away.

Casey was pretty sure Sarah had figured out how Chuck was going to end that sentence. It was obvious after a few seconds that she wasn’t alone up there any longer. “Chuck. Listen to me,” Walker called out, each word stiff. “I am ordering you not to open that door. No matter what you hear.” There was the sound of a gun hitting the floor. Casey presumed she was being unarmed as she spoke. “You are not to be the hero here.”

“You should listen to her, Chuck,” Shaw said, keeping his eyes on the kid as he raised the gun. “I also suspect that you really aren’t going to like this. Maybe this is a good time to put you to sleep for transport.”

“Bartowski – these guys do not mess around.” Casey looked from Shaw, to Chuck, to the armory, wishing to hell he could just pick up a gun, any gun, and blow a traitor-crater through this guy. “There’s no talking him out of this – now get your ass in gear!”

“What’s going to happen to Sarah?” Chuck asked, straining forward. He almost moved to attack, thought better of it.

Instead, he took off up the stairs.

“Ah, poor Chuck, you still haven’t learned,” Shaw said, shaking his head in a ‘tsk’ manner. “You still don’t get how this game is played. Or ... how it’s going to end.”

“Sarah, get out of there!” Chuck staggered up to the landing, the metal clanging under his shoes. “Shaw’s Fulcrum! He’s sending a team in to – “

Automatic rifle fire exploded behind the door. Chuck, just reaching the top stair, flung himself down on the landing in front of the door, covering his head. “Sarah! Look out! Get down – my God, Sarah!”

The shots continued to ping off the steel for a full half-minute. After the last shot echoed, an eerie silence fell over the base, broken up by a voice coming from Shaw’s two-way comm. “The target has been neutralized, sir,” it said, his tone entirely emotionless. “Prepare for extraction, Commander Shaw.”

“Walker?” Casey took the stairs two at time, reaching the upper landing and slamming both hands on solid door. “Say something!” Looking fiercely to the side of the door, he saw a high tech orbital security reader. “Chuck, stand up! Open the door! I have to do –” Something to protect them? Like what, asshole?

At Casey’s feet, the kid lay on the landing in a fetal position, hands wrapped around his head. He looked too defenseless and weak, even for Bartowski.

There was a tranq dart stuck in the shoulder of his t-shirt.

Kneeling over him, Casey pulled it out, but it was too late. Shaw had got a shot off while Chuck scrambled up the stairs. The drug had already worked its black magic on the kid, the chemical concoction seeping through his veins. As Casey watched him, he could see the fight draining from Chuck’s muscles, like somebody was gently drawing the curtains.

Casey put his fist on the door and looked vacantly at the steel rivets. He no longer felt like a detached puppet in the apparition’s plays tonight. He was suddenly very, very cold. Whatever denial there had been about all of this happening, that this couldn’t be real, this wasn’t his life, there was none of this now.

“You utter bastard,” Casey said. He turned to look down at Shaw. The man’s eyes were glittering with something like satisfaction – and madness, Casey realized through the haze of agony burning through his chest. “What the hell have you done to them?”

“God, I have to admit, I’m not going to miss this place,” Shaw said, sweeping the bunker with a dismissive glance. “Though it won’t be here for long.” Disappearing into the armory, the Fulcrum agent returned with a black bag in his hand. He pulled out a handheld detonator, pressed a few buttons until Casey heard a menacing beep, and slung the bag over his shoulder. The detonator ticked away on the table.

“Son of a bitch,” Casey snapped, pounding a fist on the door “He’s going to blow it up. Walker, if you’re still ... get out of here!”

The only sound was the stomping of more heavy boots entering the walk-in refrigerator.

Then he heard another robotic voice. “Yeah. It’s done. Get the extraction team to remove the body.”

Instantly, Casey felt his hand slide down the cold door. It was like the world halted or ceased to exist. Casey had never felt helplessness like this. But he couldn’t stop him. In one gruesome swipe, Shaw had dismantled the team.

In a way, he had, too.

“Rot in hell,” Casey said, even though Shaw was busy packing up one more bag down below. “You took the lives of good people.”

“That should do it.” Shaw methodically zipped the second case, turned to look at a blank monitor with an NSA logo, and gave it a mock salute. “It’s been a pleasure working for you, General Beckman.” To the men behind the door, he said into his watch, “Stand clear of the door. Have the stretcher ready to transport the Intersect to its new location – we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll be up in a moment.”

Looking down desperately at the unmoving apparition, Casey knelt close to where Chuck struggled to retain consciousness. He continued to fight, twisting and straining on the floor, clawing at the bottom of the door. It was clearly a losing battle; his eyelids fluttered.

“S-Sarah ... Sarah,” Chuck mumbled, his mouth barely working, “please be okay ....”

Casey leaned against the door and placed his palm flat against it, knowing it wouldn’t stop them. Of course, the kid’s words in his last moment of freedom had to be directed at his savior.

How could this get any worse?

Okay, that was Chuck’s voice again. And Casey got his answer.

“C-Casey? Casey ... are you there?”

-x-

No. End this. You have to end this.

Only you can end this, a voice in his head sounded.

It wasn’t the voice of the apparition, Casey realized, but his own, coming from some place inside of him that he hadn’t really acknowledged even though he knew the soul of it was there the whole time.

But how? How can I do anything but watch, powerless – and God, for the life of him, he hated that word – when the world was drifting away from him and to him and his chest ached and there was a turncoat and his mindless minions hauling away the Intersect ... and Walker is dead.

It was too hard to concentrate when his thoughts flung through his head, tripping and sliding as fast as his body slung through the treetops. Now where was the thing taking him? Hadn’t he seen enough for one night?

Logically, Casey knew he was being taken to a final stop somewhere – where, he couldn’t determine, for that recognition eluded his questing hands as he tried to reach out to anything and grab on.

He stumbled on a cement urn, tipped it over in the grass. Even in his gutted state, he could see that it held a dead poinsettia plant. He should be frantic, and in a way he was, but instead everything felt like he was floating and weighed down at the same time. Knowledge of the future was a heavy son of a bitch. He needed to stop. If he had any hope of killing that man, he had to get off this ride.

When he looked up, the world turned dark again as he climbed up from his knees. But the second he got to his feet, dread began to spread through his body once more. He felt it coming in on a tidal wave, and the part of him that could still move fell down again, knees sinking into wet earth, soaking his sleep pants at the kneecaps. And it felt good to know that was real.

“Where is this place?” he asked the spirit, slinking in a fog in front of him. “Show me. I .. want to see it.”

The spirit nodded, visibly trembling, and stepped out of the way. Though it was pitch black outside, Casey could now see the carved statues and tombstones, lined up like frozen, gray soldiers guarding the night, the dead.

Casey sat in the grass behind the first tombstone in front of him. “Before I look at this,” he said, “answer me one question. All of these nightmares ... are these the shadows of things that will be ... things that can’t be stopped, or things that ... may be?”

The ghost pointed at the grave and beckoned for Casey to look for himself.

“Figures I wouldn’t get straight answer out of you,” he muttered, rising to his feet. Bracing himself, he walked around the carved stone, and looked down slowly, fearfully. Yes, God, I finally know what fear felt like. “I already know what this is.” His breath was shallow as he focused on the hunk of rock. “I can ... what?”

When Casey blinked, he was still reading the same name carved in stone. He looked at it again just to be sure. Painstakingly, he stepped forward and touched the marble, just to see if he could sense the cold. He could.

The entire time, he thought he was the friend Ellie had spoken of earlier in the day.

He thought he was the friend Chuck mourned.

He was the one who had left the kid high and dry.

The pounding in his skull picked up speed. So had most of his thoughts, so that there was nothing but claxons in his head. But he couldn’t even feel his pulse, which up to this second had slammed pain through every limb with every heartbeat a second ago.

“Morgan Grimes,” he said in a low voice. “What the hell happened?” He didn’t bother looking at the being, since he knew that was a waste of effort. “Nothing was wrong with him. Well, besides the obvious. He hasn’t been hurt. Except for ... the injury. At the Buy More.”

The finger pointed from the grave to the ground. Or was it where its foot would be?

“Listen, I like things that don’t talk. But you’re damned annoying.” Casey glanced around the graveyard before peering over at the hooded being. “No one died of something like that. How could ... this be?”

The Moron was no more?

The spirit tore him away to another place.

It was a place of reverence, a place that made a person bow his head in awe of the unfathomable sacrifice. He had walked among the simple, white cross grave markers before. He had planned to be buried underneath one of them one day.

“Arlington,” Casey said, turning to look down the perfectly symmetrical rows of fallen earthly gods. “Why did you bring me here?”

The grave where they stopped was unmarked, unless 07629 counted. Which, Casey guessed, was the only thing that counted anymore.

“Walker.” For fear of exposure, they wouldn’t give the woman a proper name on her grave. Simply a number. And since she had no family that she spoke of, there was no reason to include anything else.

Casey stared down at the cross, and time seemed to pass in great forgotten chunks. She deserved so much more than being buried under a number. Walker was good. Kick-ass and take-names good. Better than most men he knew. Now she was a cross-referenced case somewhere in a redacted file of a failed mission.

“Get me outta here,” Casey ordered, slanting around to the beast.

The spirit complied. But it complied by taking him to one more place. When the whooshing in his ears stopped, Casey had the feeling he was standing in the same graveyard as the first vision, not far from the burial plot of one Morgan Grimes.

“Why?” he asked.

The apparition lifted one of those bone-thin fingers to the last grave to the left. It was a under a pine tree, something evergreen and always sharp.

“I don’t need to see this.” Casey tried to have a staring match with a hood. Even he had limits. And even though he promised himself that nothing would ever get him this deep, under the skin and bone, he walked over the final tombstone to see whose name would slam him in the face. It was better that he just look at it head on.

“Charles I. Bartowski.”

Casey fell to his knees in the earth, the damp ground soaking, pulling him in again. Chuck’s grave was soft, as forgiving as the heart underneath there somewhere. But it couldn’t be him. “They wouldn’t kill him. He’s too valuable. This ... can’t be the kid.”

The apparition was immovable as ever.

“They ... Beckman would’ve done this. She would’ve faked his death. She would’ve made certain that Ellie thought her brother was dead.” Casey cursed and lifted his head. “Otherwise, his sister would never give up. Ellie Bartowski would never stop looking for him.”

Out, out, out of here. The back of his throat felt sticky with nausea. It was the world’s way of telling him he was here, this was real, standing on the kid’s fake grave after living his fake life, and knowing he couldn’t fix it if he stood here in his god damn pajamas.

“Take me back. I’ve seen more than I need to.”

The apparition lifted its pointer finger, like a wooden pencil his first grade teacher used to aim at him when he wasn’t catching on. Hell, he had caught on. Casey turned to look at the grave, but it faded into the grass.

“Where are we going now?”

A door closed on the other side of the wall. The noise was muffled through the solid concrete, much like his senses. Casey shifted his head. Leaning in, he stared through a pinhole of a crack, though it gave him the same vantage point he had for thirty-eight hours straight.

An hour ago, he had peed in a heating duct in the wall, hoping the tinkling sound on metal didn’t give away his position. He couldn’t think about the shit he was supposed to do here. No, his mind was racing too much for his eyes to really see anything. He’d spent the past day and a half conducting surveillance inside the walls of a suspected insurgent’s brick villa in Kurdistan. Somehow, he knew it was near Al Dhubat street, behind Asasf Mosque. Surrounding him were reinforced concrete walls. The numbers were easy here: six bedrooms. Five wives, eight children.

Three men who needed to be dead by the time labneh and flat bread were served tomorrow after sunrise.

“Why the fuck am I here?” Casey hissed, his voice echoing against the dry brick wall. Tight fit in a wall, not enough air to breath. “I should be back there saving their asses!”

Finally, for the first time, the spirit spoke to him.

“You chose this, John,” it said. “You chose to be here.”

-x- End Chapter Four All We Leave Behind Us –x-


	5. Chapter Five (Part One)

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter Five (Part One)

-x-

Why on earth Casey was clinging to a wooden bedpost, he had no idea, but given the way his fingernails gouged into the wood when he clawed his way out of the haze of slumber and into wakefulness, he apparently wasn’t going to let anyone take him for another ride without taking the damn bed with him. At the same time, he had apparently indulged himself in a marathon run down the San Andreas Fault just for fun, if the gallon of sweat soaking his shirt was any indication of the work-out he had. He groaned and shoved a hand through his hair, wondering just how he had a few dried leaves stuck to it.

And how had he had managed to get a burn on his arm?

That was when he opened his eyes to make sure it was his own bedpost he was holding. Yes, it was. His apartment. Echo Park. “Jesus. Thank God,” he moaned. Tilting his head, it hit him that his sleep pants, right at his knees, were also soaking wet.

Funny. It had been several decades, the day after Recruit Receiving ended, since he was too shit-faced to get to the head without pissing himself. From the stench, though, it was just sweat. That fact didn’t give much comfort.

“What the....” he said, pushing a hand against his face and then scrubbing it over the back of his neck. His other hand made its way down under the covers, and when he pulled it back, damp earth clung to a few fingers. “No ... son of a bitch ... none of it.”

Casey sat up, rubbing his grimy fingers together. The dirt in his hand didn’t lie. The journey led by the wandering spirits was as real as the SIG on his night table.

“My God,” he murmured, picking up the pistol to look it over before tossing it down. “Walker ... Bartowski? Hell ... Grimes?” Swiping up his cell phone, he hurriedly checked the screen. “No distress signals, no panic button alarms from the kid’s watch. Shit.” He rubbed his eyelids and heaved a sigh. Still safe. Still time. They weren’t scheduled to die until –

Until?

Mother fucking never, if Major John Casey had something to say about it.

“You old mule,” the NSA agent muttered, adding a few curses to his deceased colleague as he sagged against the bedpost. Relief swirled through his body. “You got your payback for that night in Parris Island, didn’t you?”

But there was time. For once, he was given the chance to fix things instead of break them.

“Time to move,” Casey told himself as he scrambled out of bed. “Orders received, Colonel Murley. Came through loud and clear. I’ll take care of it.” He ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. His hands were busy, on and off with the faucet, hastily finger combing his hair, mislaying his toothbrush after giving a quick rinse of his mouth. He tested his breath by blowing into his hand – getting close to the Intersect wasn’t out of the question today – and threw his slippers on. Running to the window, he opened it and stuck his head out. No driving rain, no fog, no chill; the California sun had finally poked through, fresh air, golden light.

Casey put a hand on his forehead and scanned the courtyard. Everything in the world appeared normal. A few civilians passed by the fountain, carrying brightly wrapped boxes and laughing. Normally, the unruly public irked Casey to no end, but he felt his lips curl up in a smile.

His eyes caught a movement coming through the stone arch entry that led to the courtyard. The figure hobbled past the couple, chattering something that sounded cheerful. As Casey squinted down, something about the man’s vertical disadvantage rang familiar.

“Moron,” Casey said to himself. Never before had he felt body-sinking relief to see the little troll gracing the apartment complex with his presence. Casey leaned over the sill. “Grimes,” he barked out to him. “Up here.”

The little man looked side to side, confused by hearing his name, before he realized it came from the upper window. Probably more disconcerting, it came from John Casey’s window.

“Oh, um ... hey, John.” Morgan trudged backwards a step or two, only to hit his heel on the edge of the fountain. “Ow! I – I was trying to be quiet, man. Really, don’t hurt me. I know how much you hate to be disturbed on non-yogurt shop mornings –”

“Morgan.” Casey rolled his eyes at what he was about to say. “For the love of God and all that is holy, just answer one question.”

“Um, sure.”

“What day is it today?”

“What ... day?”

“You heard me.”

“Wow.” Morgan did a double-take, maybe wondering if he was being set up for an ambush. Not seeing anything, he peered up at Casey again. “Man, how could you not know? You already told your boyfriend you were spending the day locked in at home eating protein bars and watching the battles of the seventh century on the Military History Channel. In fact, I think you said something about being with ‘his family and friends makes you want to hurl up breakfa –‘”

“Shut it,” Casey said, waiting for the pie hole to snap shut. When it did, he growled out his words evenly, “All that girl talk, when I asked one question.”

“QISmaS”

“Doesn’t mean that’s permission to be a nerd.”

“Dude, Chuck hasn’t taught you the most basic Klingon? That is not a good sign.” Morgan held out his arms. “It’s Christmas, Casey. Everyone knows that!”

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. Not because of the moron, but to gather his composure before his damn knees gave out. Christmas Day. He didn’t miss the chance. “I need you to do me a favor,” he said.

“Who? Me?” Morgan played with the keys in his pocket. “Wait, did you just ask me to help you? Is this a joke, man? Did Chuck put you up to this?”

Casey sent up a silent prayer for patience and unclenched his fists. “Over at Cookbook LA. The grocery store.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I need you to pick up a ham.”

Morgan drew up short. “A ham? For who?”

For Chuck. Otherwise, Ellie will have an apoplexy all over again when she finds out her baby brother forgot that minute detail.

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?” Casey asked, the tone telling him he better rethink his answer.

“Um – I’m just, uh – okay, ham it is. Anything ... else?”

“Yeah, since you’re there, you might as well get a turkey, too. Make it a big one. Not one of those that looks like he got pushed to the back of the feed trough. Find the sucker that owned that trough, eh? We’re going to need leftovers for sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches? Maybe he has trained you.” Morgan nodded his approval. “One ham, one turkey, coming up. I’m, ah, sure there will be something for Anna to eat.”

“Anna’s coming?”

“Hmm?”

“To dinner?” Casey withheld the numb nuts, but just barely.

“Well, sure. Now that we’re dating ....” Morgan grinned up at him and brushed his fingernails up and down the front of his shirt. “See, Chuck and Anna do have something in common. They’re both dating hot studs, huh. You and me?”

The dweeb bagged Anna? Since when?

“What are you getting at?”

The moron came awfully close to a ‘duh’ look, but survival instincts kicked in. “She’s a vegan, man,” he explained. “You know, organic, non-GMO, no gluten –”

“Fine,” Casey said, cutting him off. “Pick out some – hell, I don’t know – sprouts or –”

“Hyderabadi masala dosa?”

Casey narrowed his eyes. “How’d you guess?”

“Just lucky. Is that it?”

“Yeah, and put it all in the refrigerator of the apartment across the way. 245.”

“How will I get in?”

“Chuck has the key.”

“How do you know?”

“Shouldn’t you be heading to Cookbook LA?” Casey asked.

“Oh. Right.” Morgan eyes lit up with utter glee. “Turkey, ham, and – oh wait a minute.”

“What?”

Morgan patted down his pockets and gave him a sheepish look. “I happen to be a bit short in the cash-o-la department at the moment.”

“Wait there,” Casey ordered. Walking away from the window, he found his lederhosen on the chair and dug through the pocket. After he found his wallet, he came back to the open window and pulled out a few bills. Damn, very few. He really should’ve hit the ATM on the way home last night. Since there was no other option, he tugged out his debit card. “Here. Catch.”

Morgan shot him a bewildered look. He had a half second to register what Casey tossed to him, and when he did, he backed up – and flung his body into the damndest pose Casey had ever witnessed. Morgan’s hand flew to his face and the other to his ... nether regions, ready to protect the tiny bits of property he had there.

Casey eyed him for a moment as he considered the odd stance. “What the hell,” he asked, “is that?”

“Please don’t kill me!” Morgan begged from behind the hand covering his face.

“Moron! You’re gonna wake up the neighborhood. Pick up the card!”

“But, that’s your ATM card!”

“Pick. It. Up.”

A very relieved Morgan uncovered his head when nothing exploded. “I – I thought ... hey, don’t look at me like that. When you threw something at me, John, naturally I thought it was flammable.”

Casey withheld the comment that he wished it was. “Use it to get the food. Whatever you do, don’t lose it. Then bring it back – and I will be checking for any unauthorized activity against my accounts.”

“Where’s the trust, John?” Morgan asked, looking offended as he picked up the card. He flipped it over a few times to make sure it was real. “Sweet. I bet this baby has a limit of – what, twenty thousand?”

“I will pluck you bare,” Casey told him.

“Oh, don’t worry, man. Just kidding.” Morgan put a fist over his heart, holding up the card with reverence. “I will protect the savings of my best buddy’s stud muffin – oh, sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that. He doesn’t call you that. Really. Okay, but only when he’s had a Red Bull and we’re chest deep in a game of –”

“Morgan. Just ... go.” Casey went back to pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t let anyone know it was me.”

“Yes, sir.” Any other time that weak-assed salute would’ve earned him an ear swat, but Casey let it slide. “Oh, wait, one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Casey asked.

“The pin?”

Casey scowled and wasted his breath on the obvious. “1980.”

“Hm.” Morgan looked at the card thoughtfully before he tucked it in his pocket. “Cute, but Chuck wasn’t born that year.”

See? Wasted.

Casey shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Dropping off tamales.” Morgan glanced over to the Bartowski-Woodcomb doorway, where a red bag sat, a little grease seeping through the paper. “It’s a tradition of my ma’s. Ever since ... well, never mind. You wouldn’t get it. But I always bring by tamales first thing in the morning as a surprise.”

“If you always do it, how is it a surprise?”

Morgan attempted to look pensive, which didn’t work. “Listen, I should go get the monster turkey and the ham. Not to mention the –”

“Leave my card in the mail slot. Don’t bother coming in. I won’t be here, and I don’t want anyone to know I loaned it to you.”

“All right. Can do.” Morgan shifted on his feet. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, John?”

Casey ignored both the gawking aimed at him and the way Morgan pinched his arm as if to ensure he hadn’t entered an alternative dimension. Instead, he stuck his head out at bit further. “Never better,” he said under his breath. When he looked down at the bearded man, he remembered something. “One more thing.”

“What’s that? Oh, I know.” Morgan raised his head and seemed to check his pocket to ensure the card was still there. “Meat strudels?”

“No, Morgan.” Halfway to shutting the window, Casey paused. “I was going to say Merry Christmas.”

-x-

After watching Morgan hobble through the courtyard and out through the stone archway, Casey made a mental note to find out if he really had tried to hump the ladder, or did something else happen? How the hell would Morgan Grimes die?

That thought led to a much more pressing question. Picking up his cell phone, Casey scrolled through his contacts and tapped the screen.

It took a half minute, but she answered.

And when Casey heard her voice, he had to sit down on the bed.

“Mother ... it’s me. Johnnie-boy,” he said. Even though he knew he was alone, the agent couldn’t help but check around the room, since if anyone heard that – oh, hell. He’d never hear the end of it. “I just wanted to ... call and say ... well, anything.”

“Johnnie? That’s you?” He heard her pull the phone away to say excitedly to someone, “It’s my Johnnie-boy! I have to take this. Do you mind?” Whoever she spoke to, Mother didn’t give them a chance to answer. “How are you? Merry Christmas! It’s so good to hear your voice! Where are you? Johnnie, are you safe?”

“Mother –”

“Please tell me you’re not in trouble.”

Casey let out a breath and leaned forward, putting one elbow on his knee. Now she’s the one worried about him? She was the one who was in trouble the last time he... saw her. “Mother. I’m safe,” the good son in him assured her, and for once he realized that when he was making a call like this, it was actually true. “I’m not in any kind of trouble.” For years, Mother had vague ideas of what he did for a living, but more of the white knight version versus the stone-cold killer variety, and he liked to keep it that way. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. And to say ... Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m fine.”

Wherever she was, voices could be heard in the background. Casey listened for the sound of medical equipment, because she’d never let on that she was in the hospital. The alarm clock said it would be past breakfast time in Illinois. Maybe it was a nurse stopping by to check on her.

“Mother, I hear some chatter over there. Where are you, anyway?”

Mother sounded distracted, leading Casey to think she was probably being examined by a doctor. “Maggie and Danny weren’t able to come up for Christmas,” she admitted.

“No?” Casey tried to sound puzzled. Was it just a coincidence that he already knew that? “Why not?”

“Flu bug. Hit them all hard, I’m afraid. Right at Christmas, too.” She made a tsk sound. “I talked to her this morning, and they’re going to try and make it up later in the week.”

“Then ... where are you? Who’s with you?”

“Well.” Because Casey was hanging on to every word, he heard it – just the slightest dithering, a hitch in mother’s voice. “I had just a tiny accident last night – it was nothing, really, Johnnie,” she added before he could break in. “How are you?”

“Mother,” Casey said, doing his best not to growl at her, “what kind of an accident.”

“It was the silliest thing, honestly.”

“If you don’t explain, I’m going to hang up the phone, hop on a plane, and be there in three hours.”

Mother grunted. It was scary how good she was at it. “Is that supposed to be a threat, Johnnie? Because I’m half tempted to hang up the phone right now, then, drive to the airport, and wait for my baby boy to step off a plane.”

“God, Mother, who is in the room with you?” Casey grumbled, feeling a slight cringe. “And I stopped being the baby when I gained a foot on Mags.”

“Stop it,” Mother said mildly. “You know you’re the youngest in the family, and even though you’ve grown a little since then, I can still call you my baby boy.”

“Stop stalling, Mother, and tell me where you are.”

“I’m at Joe and Wanda’s house.”

Confused, Casey sat up a little, his face scrunched up as he searched his memory banks. He drew a blank, but not surprising. He hadn’t been a big part of her life in years. “Who are they?”

“They live here in town. New folks. They’ve only been here–” and Casey heard her pull away from the phone, “How many years has it been, Wanda?”

While they waited for Wanda to count backwards, Casey filled the time by closing his eyes and gritting his teeth together. Lord give me patience to make it through today.

“Ten years. Or so, she says, so you wouldn’t remember them, Johnnie. They have two girls – oh, and they come to our church.”

Casey shook his head. So many words. So little information. “Ma, why are you there?”

“Well, it was the darndest thing,” she said, hesitant again. “I was leaving for the children’s Christmas concert, and you know how we have a nice potluck –”

“Yes, Ma.” My God, it’s like talking to Bartowski.

“And it happened to be snowing just a little.”

Seriously, Mother? I was there. That was a fricking blizzard!

“And when I got out to the car,” Mother went on, “I remembered that the cheesy potatoes were still in the oven.”

“Cheesy potatoes,” Casey echoed. Who knew those damn things could be lethal?

“You know, the recipe with the Tater Tots?”

Casey’s face scrunched up. “Mother, skip the tots and get to the point.”

Thankfully, she wasn’t offended in the least. It amazed him that after two minutes, the way they spoke was as if they had picked up where they left off the last time Casey checked in. It only bothered him for a minute that he couldn’t remember when that was. Because he planned on fixing that, too.

“All right, if you must know, when I was on the way back to the car, I fell down in the driveway. Slipped right on a patch of snow.”

Up until this second, he had still held hope, way in the back of his brain, that something would reveal itself totally counter to what he had been forced to witness during the nightmares.

So far, the meddling spirits were ahead in this game. So he cleared his throat and shook off the vision of her laying there in the snowbank, forced to accept it was real. “You fell, Mother? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Ppft. I’m fine. You haven’t told me yet: where are you?”

“Ma.” Casey gripped the phone tighter and rolled his eyes. “Hang on. Go back to the part where you were on the ground. Then what happened?”

“Well, it’s simple.” He could almost hear her rolling her eyes good-naturedly right back at him. “There was only one thing to do, sweetie.”

“What?”

“I got my knees under me, crawled over to the side of the car, climbed into the seat –”

“Jesus, Mother, you drove like that.” Casey fought to keep his voice down. “In a blizzard?”

“How else was I going to get into town? Couldn’t walk, could I, with a sprained ankle? Oh, and there was just a smidgen of blood.”

“Sprained – what? Blood?”

“So after I got to town,” Mother broke in calmly, “I drove into the church parking lot and laid on the horn until the Aldriches came out to see what the ruckus was all about. They were already inside with the girls, getting ready for the concert – the theme this year was –”

“Ma.”

“Anyway, Joe drove me to the twenty-four clinic out on Highway 71 – you remember the one, Johnnie? It’s right where Sam Van Leuven’s barn used to be. You wouldn’t even recognize that area any more, what with all the strip malls and even a new –”

Casey fell backwards on the mattress and let his shoulders settle on the bed, a dramatic Bartowski-move. When she kept talking, he cast his eyes up at the up at the ugly apartment-grade light fixture, and pulled the phone away to count to ten.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Okay. Hear that? She’s okay.

After waiting for what he thought was a safe amount of time, he brought the phone back to his ear and listened. “– the library is much nicer over there – but a bit modern.” There was a lull on her end. “Honey, are you there?”

“I’m here, Mother. I’m just waiting for you to skip past the woes of modern expansion and get to the part where you ended up at the Aldriches with a sprained foot.”

“Oh, that.” Mother snorted. “The doctor there – a woman doctor, too, Johnnie – got me all patched up and on my way.”

“That’s it?” What the ..? “Mother, how much is a smidgen of blood?”

“Some, honey, but don’t you worry.”

“Christ, Ma.” Casey stiffened a bit as he got up on his elbows. “Don’t worry?”

“I didn’t get any on the car seats. And when the Aldriches found out I was going to be ... well, alone for Christmas, they invited me to stay over with them. Isn’t that nice? So we’re just having a late breakfast and watching the girls play with their toys.”

Though she sounded happy, it didn’t stop the slick layer of guilt oozing in his belly. What would be nicer is if she was in her own house with her own family, and they both knew it. “I’m ... happy it all worked out, Ma,” Casey heard himself say.

“Okay, now that we have that out of the way, can you tell me where you are?”

Casey sat up on the bed. Though he was always vigilant to keep her worries out of it, he figured this was safe enough. “I’m in LA. Echo Park, actually.”

“You’re in the States?! Not one of those countries where I can barely pronounce the name?”

The relief he felt for the past few minutes was quickly fleeing; more guilt seeped in to take its place. “Iraq, Mother. That one was easy enough, eh?”

“If you’re trying to humor me, Johnnie, it’s not working,” she said a bit more firmly. “But California. You’re so close to home, aren’t you?”

Before he could truly wrap his head around distance, he astounded himself. “Not yet, Mother,” he said, and his voice lowered. “But I was wondering if you have plans for dinner tomorrow.”

“D-dinner? What do you mean, Johnnie?”

“I’m saying, Ma, that I’m getting on a plane tomorrow and coming for a visit,” Casey said, straightening. He teased her by adding, “Unless you really do have plans already.”

At first, Casey thought the line had gone dead, but he realized a second later she was simply sucking in air in order to blow back a wordless cry of joy and ecstasy. The fact that he heard her voice begin to shake was probably just happiness, not the tears he suspected. He hoped, anyway.

“Finally,” Casey heard her say into the phone. “Johnnie’s coming back for Christmas. All of that waiting and hoping that he could fix the world enough to take a rest has paid off. Oh, my. All will be right in my world, at least.”

Hearing that, Casey walked over to the window and peered out towards the Bartowski’s. All wasn’t right yet. He felt his stomach bottom out at the replay of Walker’s death and the kid’s inevitable snatch by Fulcrum. “I’ll be there, Mother. I promise. I just have some business to wrap up here today, and then I’ll hop on a plane. I’m just ... really sorry, Ma, I’m not there today.”

Mother laughed. “Oh, Johnnie, just knowing you’ll be here tomorrow is the best present I’ve ever had.”

“There’s something else you should know, Mother.” Casey walked over to the closet, started to pull out a shirt, and then remembered the Bartowskis wore their pajamas on Christmas Day. “I won’t be alone. I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

“Of course not, Johnnie,” she replied, sounding eager. She knew her son was the epitome of a lone wolf. “Who is it?”

“A friend,” Casey said evasively. A friend who didn’t even know he was going on a trip. Walking over to the dresser, he pulled out a pair of clean pajama pants and sleep shirt, and tossed them on the bed. “And, er, well ... you won’t need to make up the guest room. We’ll be staying in my old room.”

Jesus, he would have to worry about making up that story when they got on the plane.

“A friend,” she repeated, poking. “Now who’s not explaining?”

“Mother. Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” Over Casey’s groan in his throat, she continued in a very low voice, “Just answer this, at least. Man or woman?”

Since the NSA agent was standing in front of his dresser mirror, he got a first class view of himself gazing back like a deer in the headlights. Not much floored him anymore. But that did. Moving more cautiously, he went into another drawer to dig out clean boxers while the silence stretched. “What kind of a question is that?” Not to mention, how in fuck did you know to ask it?

“An honest one. And before you mumble along, trying to cover things up, Johnnie, I’ve always known. I am your mother.”

Casey had begun to sweat again. Nothing prepared him for this conversation. “Why would you think that?”

“Gender has never been important to you when deciding who you like. You gravitate to people because of who and what they are. The rest? Well, you’re ... adaptable to the situation. You know, bendable.”

“Nice visual, Ma,” Casey chided and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Might as well get it over with. “It’s a guy, mom.

“Mm. I see.” She was smiling a little, Casey knew. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “And you and him?”

“A ... work in progress.”

“Is he a nice guy?”

“Yeah,” Casey said without thinking about it. He didn’t get too many chances to tell the truth. “He is. Nerdy. Smart, too.” Too smart for his own damn good sometimes. “His name is Chuck.”

“Is he ... cute?”

Casey, sorting through the drawer for clean socks, dropped the entire bundle in his hand. “Ma ....really ....”

“Yes. Hey, I want to know.”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t have a lazy eye or ears that make him capable of unpowered flight,” Casey answered, finding himself smiling again as he shrugged, “so yeah, I guess you could say he’s ... easy on the eyes ... or something like that.”

Mother chuckled. Casey’s teeth ground together at how knowing that sound was. “That cute, huh?”

“What?”

“I can hear it in your voice. You do like him.”

“Christ, Mother. Are your friends listening to the story of my sex life right now?”

Sss – what now? Fuck! Casey blinked at himself in the mirror, wondering how he was going to pull that back into his mouth. And where the hell it came from in the first place.

Mother was chuckling again. “I see .... Can’t wait to meet this smart, handsome guy of yours. How old is he, anyway?”

Casey hesitated in the middle of trying to find a way to hide his firearm under PJs. Ah, shit. Time to wrap this up. “I’m heading over to his house right now. Mind if I call you later with the travel arrangements?” The real trick would be making the other set of arrangements. The ones that involved telling his boyfriend and precious Human Intersect he was going to be kidnapped to the snowy Midwest for a week – and really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Walker was another fly in the proverbial spy-ointment. Pleased that Casey finally accepted his role on the team, she’d either see this as a chance to get some R&R, or she’d be wary of letting the asset out of her sight.

Either way, the kid was coming, and the blonde could decide if she wanted to hide out in the barn and track surveillance from there or do whatever else spooks did to stay under cover. Mother was open-minded, but the threesome thing might make even her raise a brow.

After saying goodbye, Casey tossed the clean pajamas on the bed and was already stripping out of the sweat-soaked ones as he walked into the bathroom. The man looking back at him in the mirror needed a clean shave and a shower. Turning on the water in the shower stall, he lined up his razor, toothbrush, and ... what the hell, a bottle of cologne.

The water couldn’t be hot enough. He twisted the knob another inch and let it pound against his skin, a tangible cleansing and deeper than he felt in a long time. It stung a little, but this was a good sting.

Toweling off, he strode naked into the bedroom and quickly slipped on the plaid sleep pants and t-shirt. After that, he gave himself a quick shave and a dab of the scent from the bottle. Hey, he wasn’t blind. Bartowski always seemed to lean his head in a little closer in the surveillance van, trying not to be twitchy and blush, every time Casey wore Noir cologne. He noticed these things.

After combing his hair, Casey studied that man in the bathroom mirror. “You almost look like boyfriend material, asshole,” he said, “except you forgot a gift.” Shit, he couldn’t show up empty handed. He’d have enough to try to explain away as it was.

“Damnit, now what?” The agent began scrabbling through his dresser drawers. Finding the perfect gift was usually an elusive joke, but when he fumbled past a few pairs of socks to the bottom left corner, Casey was pretty sure that was the mother lode of gifts that caught his hand. He held it up, inspected it, and wondered what he could use for wrapping paper. The comics section of the newspaper, same as his dad used to do. Finishing it up, he set it on the bed and looked around. “Okay, spy. You’ll need to have an alibi.” He wasted no time grabbing up a few more items and throwing them in a bag. One last look in the dresser mirror – damn did he actually look happy? – and Casey headed out the door to his Christmas appointment.

At his boyfriend’s.

It didn’t feel completely uncomfortable thinking that, though he had no idea why.

-x-

Chuck had kept the bedroom window unlocked. Still can’t follow simple orders, Casey thought, because how many times have I told you not to do that, kid? You need to keep it locked at night. Leaving it unlatched made the Intersect susceptible to dangerous threats.

And what was the kid’s reaction? Chuck had simply shrugged at him, gave him a look with those big brown eyes. “That’s why I have you, isn’t it? Boyfriend?’”

The kid was a sarcastic little smartass when he wanted to be.

Brushing that off, Casey quietly opened the latch, swung the window open, and stepped inside the bedroom. Once there, he found the Intersect in a position he had observed many times over the surveillance feed, but only a time or two in person. Chuck was lying on his stomach, his head cocked to the side and one long arm out dangling off the side of the bed. He breathed softly, dark eyes closed, but holy God, that hair was unglued from the usual way the kid tried to keep it tame, and it sprung up in wacky waves all over the place.

“Heh.” It pleased him that the kid was able to sleep deeply. For now, he wanted him to shed some of that emotional and physical exhaustion because today would be a rollercoaster.

Casey walked stealthily over to the desk and reached into his bag, tossing a few items over the chair before setting the overnight bag down on the desk.

“That should look like I got undressed in a hurry.” Turning, he cocked his head at the sleeping form, really looking at something more than the Intersect. A man. A good man. Some part of his subconsciousness realized what a gift it was to stand this close to one of the only people who trusted him completely. He watched the kid move his hand to slide it under the pillow as he groaned softly to himself.

“Sleeping will get better,” Casey murmured. “Trust that.”

Though Chuck seemed to have no problem stretching out, a good third of the bed was vacant – and that was where Casey strolled over quietly and slipped under the covers. As he did it, a snuffling noise while he flexed his back was the only movement out of the kid. Way to go, defense training. Casey could be a Fulcrum agent sliding in to grab the Intersect, and Chuck would only find a way to use him as a villainous pillow.

Something else they would have to work on, but now they’d have the time to teach the kid precisely what he was going to need to know if he was to live. And he was, by God. He was.

-x-

Lulled by the sensation of a warm body next to his, Casey had found it easy to actually drift off for a while. Being dragged to hell and back in the night had flat out drained him, and given the intensity of the evening and what was to come, he deserved the rest. And he had forgotten how nice body heat could be when it came from under the covers, and not a tight foxhole in the desert.

When he woke again, the first things Casey noticed were the late morning December sun rays slanting in through the blinds and the smell of hazelnut coffee. The next thing was the long arm slung over his chest. On top of that, Casey had no idea how Chuck managed to toss a leg over his without knowing there was someone in his bed, but given the way he was snoring, nothing had hit him yet.

Well, it would be rude to move, so Casey lay there as still as he could, though he wanted nothing more than to push some of that hair away from his lips, and focused on the sound of the kid’s breathing.

‘Better get used to using me for a pillow, buttercup,’ Casey thought. ‘Not going anywhere.’

The first sign that Chuck might realize his arm was draped over a muscly pillow was a physical jerk of his body. Half-turning and with his eyes still closed, the kid angled his head towards the ceiling and wet his lips. “Mmm ....” A smile crossed his face, maybe the last remnant of a hazy dream, and the arm slid down a little.

Watch it, kid. Casey squinted down at that head of hair. If that hand went any further, he would have to shake him awake. The agent already recognized that he was going to move things along with Chuck, gradually, but a dick grab with big sister listening in on Christmas morning might be a little too aggressive, even for him.

Chuck sniffed contently against Casey’s shoulder, and now his hand slid up Casey’s arm. Those fingers drifted lazily over the bicep closest to the kid’s body, up and down, almost caressing. He hummed deep in his throat and started to move his hand over Casey’s chest –

“Hmm?” Chuck’s entire body went utterly rigid.

The hand which had been exploring bare skin that wasn’t his own froze over Casey’s upper arm. After a second, the long fingers squeezed, gingerly testing.

“What ..?” Chuck asked himself.

As Casey watched, the revelation hit the kid. The happy dream that a moment ago had his long lashes fluttering was followed in its wake by the shock that he wasn’t alone in his bedroom.

Chuck Bartowski’s eyes snapped open. So did his mouth. “Holy shi-!“

In the time it took for Chuck to suck in a huge breath, Casey moved with the speed of a pouncing lion. Two things happened immediately. One, he sprawled his meaty body over the kid to keep him from jumping up and running around like a girl on fire, and two, he slapped a big paw over Bartowski’s trap to keep any noises from escaping. “Keep it in! You’ll alert your sister!”

“What the –ah!”

Casey was not as successful with the second objective.

“MmmPH!” Chuck managed to eke out between Casey’s fingers. The weight pushing him into the mattress only made the nerd struggle wildly under the covers, his body bucking and twitching to throw Casey off of him. It was a hopeless move that would’ve made Casey smile if he didn’t feel the lanky legs under him attempting to slip out. A knee, trapped under the quilt, came up to a delicate place in Casey’s anatomy, one that, if all worked out, would finally be getting some use in the next ... month or so? Hell, he didn’t know how fast or how slow they would go, he only knew they would go.

“Better think again, cupcake,” Casey said in a low growl. Shifting over him, he lined up their bodies and pinned him down a little harder to get Chuck to pay attention. “’Cause I can tell you trying that thing with your knee again will make me unhappy now and you unhappy later, eh?”

“Whaff!” Chuck’s eyes blew wider. Maybe it was the jarring discovery of finding himself jammed under his hard-ass handler, but he continued to kick and fight even though it was plain to see the struggle had little effect on his captor/new ... boyfriend? Yeah, that was going to take some getting used to.

“Bartowski.” Casey grunted in a way that managed to convey perfectly that he wasn’t getting out from under him any time soon. Changing the grip over his mouth, he made Chuck look directly up at him. “Relax, will you? It’s just me!”

“Mmp –gah!” Startled brown eyes pointed up at him. Shock, Casey would call that. “Noph!”

No? Maybe he thought it was bunker time, and Casey won the dubious honor to get him there. Either way, the struggles had to stop. The agent changed the grip over his mouth to make Chuck look directly into his steady gaze.

“Not getting up until you shut up and listen.” Casey held his fingers against the front of his mouth while Chuck could only breathe displeasure through his nose and glare meaningfully at him until he got a dramatic eye-roll. “And stop your squirming!”

“Ca – mph? Whuf ar youf doingn hereph!”

“I said shh!” Casey whispered harshly against his ear. “You keep that up, and your sister will think one of us is working his way to the bottom of Santa’s naughty list. And let me tell ya, the way she looks at me, she doesn’t think that about her nice baby brother. Now are you going to stop making those noises?”

Chuck stared at Casey for so long that the agent wondered if there was something broken in the Intersect. After a minute, the kid grumbled a complaint behind those fingers tightly squeezed to his lips and tried one more time to buck Casey off of him.

Good luck with that. Casey was heavy, one solid line of weight pressing Chuck down into the bed. Finally realizing the fight was useless, the kid gave up after ten seconds and let out an indignant sigh through his nose, and the agent could feel every long muscle unwind under his body.

“Okaph. Uph,” Chuck said, petulantly nodding his acquiescence.

Casey lifted his hand after that. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Are you insane!?”Chuck hissed, going bug-eyed. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? Sleeping. Tried to, at least, until those screams pierced my eardrums.”

“Do you realize that when you went to bed sometime last night, you missed your own pillow by, oh, I don’t know, fifty yards or so?!”

“See this hand? I’ll put it right back over your –”

“You know, if this is a surprise physical test to see if I can defend myself, well, that’s – that’s just demented, even for you!”

“Shh!”

“Because let’s just agree that I am something of a beginner at escaping, so couldn’t you at least pretend that I put up a fight? I mean, you could make it look like I had a chance, seeing that it’s Christmas and all!” Chuck had the brilliant idea that more wriggling was in order, even though only his hips were the things that moved.

Shit, did they.

“Bartowski, you may wanna rethink that –”

“Or if this is supposed to be a mock kidnapping to build up my powers of resistance – wow, thanks – I have to let you know that this is a very bad position for you to be in.”

Chuck wriggled again, trying to dislodge him. Then more wriggling. Then even more squirming of a considerably more humiliated nature. Jesus. Five years of abstinence combined with their bodies lined up was doing a number on the kid, and good old hormones had something straining against Casey’s thigh.

“Are you going to hold still,” Casey said, “or do I make you hold still?”

Since the kid had yet to stop writhing under him – and Casey could feel a speed bump against his jeans growing more prominent with every shift – Chuck said desperately, “Please? Please get off me?”

“Yeah, why should I?” Casey had to ask, smirking down at him.

Chuck gritted his teeth. “Because!”

“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think, Bartowski?” Casey cleared up any confusion by letting his gaze fall to the non-existent space between their wedged bodies. “Haven’t even been on a proper date yet,” he teased.

Chuck cringed and closed his eyes. “God, this is not happening.”

“You gonna stop moving?”

“Deal.” Chuck almost looked panicked. That boner could not be wished away. “You get off me and then do me favor and explain to me what the hell is going on here!”

Crisis averted, Casey rolled off of the kid, though he did stay close enough for their bodies to remain touching along one side. “It’s Christmas isn’t it? What is there to explain?”

“Explain?” Chuck blurted, and taking advantage of his freedom, he hopped out of bed and began pacing the floor. “You – you wanted nothing to do with my family at Christmas, remember? Or was that some other badass superspy in leather shorts I was talking to last night? Oh, and not to mention, you want nothing to do with me, either!”

“Getting loud again, Bartowski.”

“Oh my God, oh my God.” Chuck ran a hand through his hair as he paced. Every few steps or so, he glanced over as if he couldn’t believe that his handler was in his bed, right down to his sleep ruffled hair and pajamas. “This is a dream. Just a dream. A big, bad, scary … hot dream.”

“Are you gonna get back in bed?”

Chuck, still going back and forth, stopped at his desk chair. “Hey, what’s this? An overnight bag?”

“Had to make it look like I snuck in after a late shift.”

“You’re really not doing well at this explaining thing!”

“You didn’t expect me to go home and change if I was just coming straight here, did you? I figured that’s what a boyfriend would do.” Casey tucked one hand behind his head and tapped the empty space next to him. “Bartowski, why don’t you come back to bed?”

“B-bed?”

“Yeah,” Casey said. “Right here.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Chuck crept over to his nightstand, a quick in and out away from Casey’s reach, and swiped up his cell phone. As he began to pace again, he stabbed the screen and waited only a second before babbling into it. “Sarah? Sarah, thank God. You have to get over here.”

“Don’t tell me you called the blonde,” Casey cut in.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Chuck continued to blurt into the phone. “I’m fine. It’s Casey.” His eyes darted over the agent, and he had a brief moment to look bewildered. “I think Christmas … broke him!”

The kid listened. Then, “Why?” he hissed lowly. “Because he’s here! In my bed!”

It was impossible to hear Walker’s reply to that, so he had to rely on Chuck. Luckily, the kid was as readable as one of his comic book characters. Chuck heard her out while his eyes roamed up and down Casey’s long sprawl. Swallowing hard, he then turned around to hide his face. “Of course that’s what I want! But – but not just springing it on me with no warning!”

Casey could hear Walker say something muffled right back at him.

“Because it’s Casey! The man could kill me with a toothpick or a – a spork! And up until last night, I thought he’d jump at the opportunity to it!” Chuck pulled the phone away to glare at it. “I’m not shouting!”

“She’s right, you know,” Casey said. “You are shouting. Now get over here and get in bed.”

“Did you hear that, Sarah? This is not my imagination or dream or anything. He’s here.” Chuck cast a nervous glimpse at Casey. “He’s ordering me to get in bed with him. Does that sound normal to you?!”

Casey watched as he took a deep, calming breath. Walker was probably telling him shut up and do it.

“Was that a snicker? Sarah, did you snicker at me?”

“Tell the blonde we’ll keep her posted,” Casey said, patting the bed a little more adamantly. “No need to rush over.”

Chuck’s eyes bulged at him. “Holy shi – wait. Sarah? Did you hang up on me?” The kid shot another scowl at the phone. “She did. She hung up on me.” Glancing over at Casey, he put a hand over his own mouth and then cradled his chin. “Oh, God.”

“You heard her.” Casey motioned with an impatient held tilt. “Getting cold on your side, kid. Come on. Hop in.”

“Okay, okay, think,” Chuck began to mumble to himself. As he paced, he tapped the edge of the phone on his forehead. “Think, think ... this is not happening ....”

“Do I look like one of your holograms, sport?”

Chuck actually squinted at him for a second. “Oh. Ah, I guess not.” Fumbling with the phone, the kid tried to put it back in his pocket until he seemed to realize his sleep pants didn’t have pockets. “Hey, um, Casey ....”

“Don’t tell me what’s going through your head. Just get in bed, will you?”

“B-bed?” Embarrassed, Chuck set the phone down on the desk and tried to look casual. He was holding back the freak-out, but just barely. “Here’s the thing. So yes, that was Sarah. She’s coming over. I think you should try to take deep breaths or –”

“Bartowski, don’t make me come and get you.”

“Yes, do that. Wait, no.” Chuck had another brief moment to be mystified before he dragged two sweaty palms down the outside of his pant leg. “Look, Casey, as fun as this is, I think it’s crossing the line to torment me on Christmas Day.”

Casey narrowed his eyes. “Torment?”

“Yes, I mean look at you,” Chuck said. He then had to lick his lips. “It has to be either that, or you reached to the back of your liquor cabinet last night for the good stuff, and now you’re wondering how you ended up here.”

“The most lethal thing I had last night was a meat lovers Hot Pocket. Now get over here.”

“But why are you in my room? Last night you said – whoa, where are you going?”

“Fetching your skinny ass,” Casey informed him. Because the fourth time the agent told him to get over there was not going to be a suggestion. “Try not to scream.”

“Fetch ..?” Chuck spent a second looking him up and down until he wisely caught on. The larger man had started to circle the bed to corner him against the dresser. “Okay, okay, I’m getting into bed with you!” He slinked out of reach before Casey could grab him, but he did plop down on the bed. “See, cozy, right?”

Casey halted. When the kid smiled up at him, he climbed back into bed. “Don’t make everything hard, Bartowski.”

Chuck dodged his eyes down before he coughed nervously. “If I told you I’m still confused, I know that won’t penetrate your frighteningly well-armored head.”

Casey just stayed quiet as he looked down at the chasm between their bodies. An exasperated sigh escaped right before he wrapped an arm around the kid’s middle and pulled him up against his body. “Better. That hardly counted as being in the same bed, Bartowski.”

Chuck froze against him. Fear, Casey recognized. Not the best start. “If this is a way to get back at me in front of my family about the Lou incident, well, you know what? You win. Hear that, John Casey? I’m waving the white flag –”

“Thought that’s what you wanted,” Casey broke in quietly. “One of the things, anyway.”

“What?”

“Me.” Casey stretched his legs a little, hoping he was right about making himself long and comfortable. “Being here.” He left it purposely ambiguous. Your life. Your bed?

Chuck stopped babbling to himself and swung his head around to really eyeball him. Whatever he saw made his brows draw down. “Casey, I’m honest when I say I have no idea what is going on here.”

“I’ve had enough of this weirdness between us since Halloween. You screwed up with Lou ... and I mighta screwed up, too.”

“But what does that have to do with... this?” Chuck asked, motioning with one hand between them.

“Do over, kid. You, me, figuring this out. Our time starts now.” Casey spoke as if he had stabbed a stopwatch. “Are you okay with that?”

Chuck was barely keeping it together if that blank look meant anything. “Okay ..?”

Casey knew he should do something to counter the kid’s shock, but what? He thought about it, wavering a second before he shifted his shoulder and placed a hand on Chuck’s pajamas, right on his knee. “This, Bartowski.” At first his fingers clenched a little, and since Chuck reacted by breathing in sharply, Casey quickly loosened his grip but left his hand there, relaxed. It was warmed by the kid’s body, and it felt kind of nice to have contact. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

“I ... I’m not sure I even know ... wow. I should really protest this.”

“Why?”

“The ten words or less approach to get us back on track. It almost seems insufficient to work through the issues of the past few weeks.”

“Need something more than me saying I’m here ... for good? You’ll be safe? Maybe even ...”

“Happy?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Chuck talked to himself under his breath and tried to get an idea what he could say to that. But Casey’s words turned out to be much more than succinct, they were dead-on.

“You said you’re staying. Wow.” After a minute, the kid glanced over at Casey a bit shyly and settled for unwinding his shoulders back into the pillows behind him. One of which was Casey’s shoulder. “Okay, we can start with the first do over because that greeting didn’t count. I wasn’t even expecting you.”

“The kick to the groin tipped me off.”

Chuck frowned until he looked over and saw Casey had a teasing expression on his face. The kid’s frown slowly faded, replaced by a little smile. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I was still aghast at finding a man in my bed and being held prisoner under him. And just so you know, there are other ways you can stop by and see me.”

“I guess I can work on that,” Casey said.

“Really?” Chuck moved his knee as if he was testing to see if Casey would dislodge his hand, but it stayed put. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you, um, knock your head in the doorway when you left the shooting range last night?”

“I didn’t go to the shooting range.” What the hell, he really doesn’t get it? So to help him in this lesson, Casey’s hand moved up, closed with a flirtatious squeeze on Chuck’s thigh. “There are going to be some changes going forward, so I need you to listen up.”

“Okay.” Chuck stared down at that hand, stunned that it was even there. He started to move his hand from his own lap, reconsidered, and kept it where it was, his eyes fixed on Casey’s face. “But I still feel like I’m hallucinating.”

“The cover needs work.”

“Agreed.”

“Actually, it needs a total overhaul.”

“Well, I was trying to be polite when I agreed, but overhaul is probably the mildest term, right?” Chuck gestured vaguely at Casey with his left hand, but put it back on his own leg when he ended the movement with an awkward flailing. “Sarah and Beckman have a point. We just need to forget about what happened, and make the cover ironclad – for my family’s sake, for our own sanity, for –”

“What I meant,” Casey said, “is that it’s not a cover anymore.”

“– Sarah, too, because she deserves to have a team that won’t – what now?” Chuck’s head snapped so hard to the side Casey was sure he would get whiplash. Those brown eyes were close, chocolate and dangerous. “Did you say something?” he asked. “Because I swore I heard –”

“I said not a cover.” Casey’s face remained utterly implacable.

“I don’t get it.” Chuck looked at the big hand resting on his leg. “You said at Halloween that we would work on the cover and then you – I thought you wanted to break up.”

“I changed my mind,” Casey said. The shrug he gave rubbed his shoulder against Chuck’s, and the automatic reaction made Chuck jump. But then he felt the kid lean into him a little. “That’s why this ... thing between us wasn’t working. When I do something, it’s not a lie.”

“But you’re a spy. So, by definition –”

“I finish jobs. I don’t have to lie. So you and me?” Halting there, Casey’s thumb ran down the kid’s kneecap, lightly testing the waters. “None of this half-assed stuff. From here on out, it’s real.”

“You mean that?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Chuck blinked at his newest acquisition leaning against his pillow. “I ... wow.”

“This is where I do need you to say something, Bartowski,” Casey said. “Just don’t get all girly on me.”

“Ye – y-uh.” Wincing, Chuck cleared his throat. “I mean, yes! That’s a yes.”

“Good, then that settles it.” Casey settled back, ready to close his eyes again. “Starting now, none of this bullshit.”

“Wait. Just like that?” Chuck tried not to watch Casey’s hand slowly massaging his kneecap, but he couldn’t help himself, he was staring at it. “What – what about the General? What will all of this mean? You’re not supposed to ... well, really like me. This might get – ”

“I’m still here to keep you safe, and that’s what Beckman cares about. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Or Walker,” Casey added. No Fulcrum agents in your bed. Poisoning you from the inside out. Shaking that off, the hand lying securely on the kid’s knee gave him a little jostle. “You okay with this?”

“Am I ... okay?” Chuck looked up at the ceiling before he chuckled softly in disbelief. At last, he slid a tentative hand on Casey’s, threaded his fingers through his. With one thumb tracing the side of Casey’s hand, he conveyed in a simple gesture his willingness to put the rocky relationship behind them. “Well, you’re John Casey. How can I say no?”

“Good.”

“Um, one more thing.” Chuck mustered up a smile, emphasizing the relaxed curve of his mouth. “I didn’t know you were gay or ....”

“I like... both at times, and neither most of the time.” Casey shrugged. “It depends on the person.”

“Neither?” Chuck laughed and squeezed his hand. “Only from you does that make sense.”

Casey moved his foot to balance an ankle on Chuck’s, remembering the conversation with his mother. Why was it no surprise that Chuck would get it? “Yeah, well, what has never meant as much as who.” He repeated it casually, even now wondering why it took him this long to say it out loud. “When I see something I like, I go after it.”

“And ...how do I fit into that?”

“I like you.”

“Impossible.”

“True.”

“Well, you should know better,” Chuck said, waggling his brows in a joking way. “There’s no defense against a charming nerd. Eventually, even the hardest ... um, target will fall. You should be more careful in the future, Major.”

“Nerds.” When Casey made a move to cuff him playfully, Chuck fended him off with a grin and a forearm. Taking the challenge, Casey clutched his arm gently and brought it down to the kid’s chest, holding it there.

It didn’t hurt, but it did make Chuck meet his eyes with a confused look. “Cut it out. You win.”

“I’ll cut it out, but you listen up.” Casey used the hold on his arm to draw him closer, and Chuck couldn’t help it, he had started to tense. The agent reminded himself that up until now, he was the bully in the playground, and the kid was going to need some time. As Casey let go of his arm, his hand drifted to Chuck’s hair, his nape. Studying that open-book face, Casey remembered what he heard.

Sarah, he’s paid to like me.

He thought he was the world’s most unlikable man, since his state-paid handler wouldn’t cuddle.

“Look at you, Bartowski.” Casey pointed his chin at the lankiest form of spy kryptonite to ever stumble around in obliviousness. “How could I not like you?”

Chuck tried to mask it, but the honesty behind the answer had him at first blinking and then blushing along his jaw. “I ... don’t know what to say.”

“Talking’s overrated, kid.”

That made Chuck smile, the tension easing along his arms. “Yeah, but when did you realize – ohmph.”

Casey leaned over Chuck, flattened him back into the pillows, and crushed the questions with his mouth.

The quilt somehow ended up down at the end of the bed, tumbling over their feet, which Casey nudged apart in one slow but sure moment. At the same time, he encouraged Chuck’s mouth open in a series of quick, dirty, shut-up pushes that Chuck seemed to take to once he got over the shock of having his handler – boyfriend’s – lips pressed to his. It seemed he couldn’t quite work out what was happening; he was too busy trying to breathe under that broad chest and the dig of fingers into his bare arms.

Casey found the kid wasn’t the only one having a hard time catching his breath.

“Oh ... oh, wow.” Chuck was gasping when Casey pulled back, hands gripping the back of Casey’s neck. “So are there... rules?”

“Rules?” The fingers threading Casey’s hair at the collar put a whorl of confusing emotions in his lower abdomen. That was not supposed to happen just yet. “What do you mean, Bartowski?”

“Going slow ... um, fast?”

“Up to you, I guess.”

Chuck just looked at him for a long moment before his eyes drifted down, checking him out in his rumpled pajamas. “I wouldn’t mind a sleep over – ah, sooner rather than later?”

Casey snorted and bit on his lip. “When?”

“Well, um, tonight’s free in my book,” Chuck replied, grinning.

“A little forward, aren’t you, stud?”

“Oh, no – wait, I didn’t mean – not that.” Chuck stopped shifting half under him, but that did nothing to hide his involuntary reaction to the kiss. “It’s just ... I like you. I always have, almost from the beginning. This is a nice start. So I meant snuggling – you know, like we’re doing now. Technically speaking, snuggling would be a good way to get – well, I think anything else would come later. Hey, I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything ... oh, geez. I’m babbling, aren’t I? Go ahead, you can –”

“Bartowski, shut up,” Casey said, and he bent his head, caught his lips before he could stammer on. As he went on kissing him hard, he did what he could to swallow down the misgivings and doubt, his hand holding Chuck’s jaw so that he couldn’t pull away and keep talking. When the kid finally let out a tiny moan of surrender, Casey decided that was far enough for now, so he pulled back to stare at him. Their faces were still close, his vision dominated by a pair of deep brown eyes. “Having a warm body to share the blankets sounds like a decent start. After that ... I’m sure we’ll figure it out. All of it, eh?”

The kid blinked at him , his tongue caught between his teeth for a second or two. Damn, he really was warm against Casey’s shirt, and snuggling didn’t seem like a bad proposition. “I – I’m good with that.”

“Good.” Casey tested the theory by reaching over to massage the kid’s firm shoulder. “Let Walker know that she can’t –”

“Hey, Chuck?” There was a barely perceptible tap on the door before it suddenly flung open. “You should – oh, my God. Casey?”

Both men straightened. Wedged underneath him, Chuck jerked his head to the side and flinched, possibly because of the stupor on his sister’s face. A millisecond later, blankets flew around them as Casey scrambled to climb off his new boyfriend.

“Um, hey, El,” Chuck said, sucking in a breath. “Is it – ah – time to start unwrapping presents?”

Ellie slowly brought her hand up to her mouth, her eyes traveling up and down the occupants of the bed. “Apparently, yes.”

Ah, hell. Not what you’re thinking, sister. Casey rolled over and landed on the mattress on his side of the bed. Then he wondered when he earned his own side of the bed.

“Um, I didn’t know you were here, John,” Ellie said, her gaze zeroing in on her baby brother as she clutched her nightgown. “I thought ... well, I didn’t think you were going to be here for Christmas.”

“I snuck in last night,” Casey said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So, you’re staying today? For dinner?”

There was a pause as Casey looked over at Chuck. “I’m staying. If ... that’s okay with everyone.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “I think that’s a question for Chuck.”

Chuck , realizing his faux pas, almost leaped to get next to Casey again. “We’re good, really,” he assured her. “We are.”

Again, Ellie squinted at him almost suspiciously. Her arms now crossed, she weighed the situation, but finally let out a sigh in genuine relief. “I’m ...glad. We both are. It will be nice to have Chuck’s boyfriend here for the holiday, John.”

“It ... will,” Chuck agreed, pinging him with the full warp-speed grin. Casey decided on the spot it was not going to take a lot of work to get used to that grin. Especially when the hand wrapped around his gave his fingers a tight squeeze.

“Pancakes will be ready in a few minutes,” Ellie said. She then surprised Casey by shooting a bright smile at both of them. “Hurry. Devon looks hungry.”

She smiled? The meaning behind it was lost on Casey. Unlike the spy that could’ve barged into their lives in a short week from now, she apparently approved of John Casey as boyfriend material.

Later, Casey would have to try and figure out what she saw that he didn’t.

“We’ll be right out, sis,” Chuck said with an unsteady nod, stopping to lick his bottom lip. Maybe his lips still tingled, another feeling not lost on Casey. His own felt singed, much like his lower belly. With a little more practice, the kid was going to be a hell of a kisser. Really seemed to catch on and get into it, and Casey had to wonder what else that would carry over to –

“Glad you wore your pajamas,” Chuck was saying, climbing out of bed. His hair stood in several skyward directions, Casey noticed, flicking a look that had Chuck trying to tame it a little. “It means you can actually follow instructions that I give you.”

Casey, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, paused to lift a brow at him. “You plan on doing that a lot, kid?”

“Um, wow,” Chuck said, starting to babble as he turned a nice shade of Christmas red, “I probably owe you an apology – not to mention, ah, forgiveness for the images that ... oh, God.” The kid stuffed his feet in a pair of slippers next to the bed. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Good idea,” Casey said, keeping a straight face. He checked his phone for messages, and was interrupted when it was the kid’s that began to play the mariachi.

Chuck, who had been caught staring, jumped and almost knocked over his lamp. He scratched his head for a second as he searched for the source of the music. “Oh, that’s my, um ....”

“Phone?” Casey asked, nodding at it on the dresser.

“My phone! Yes, my phone.” Chuck snatched it in his hand and peered at the screen. He still looked wobbly. “Oh, look. It’s Sarah. I think she’s worried after ... the call I made.”

“Gonna answer it?”

“Answer ...? Oh, the phone.” The kid chuckled at himself uneasily. “Yes, I better – um. Hi, Sarah. Listen, I – uh, see, you’re not going to believe this, but – hey!”

“I’ll take it from here.” Casey used the kid’s befuddled state to swipe the phone out of his hand. “Walker.”

“Casey? What’s going on?” Sarah Walker rarely let anything get to her, but Casey swore he could hear her rental car hitting new land speed records. “Chuck said something’s wrong? You’re at his house? With him? On Christmas?”

Casey merely nodded. “Get your ass over here,” he said into the phone. He traded a look with the kid, who was shifting on his feet and still looking like he might tap Casey’s head to make sure this was real. “I have something to say to you, too.”

-x- End Chapter Five Part One All We Leave Behind Us –x-

To Be Continued ..... One more part of finish it off, since I couldn't quite get it all stuffed in here. :) Look for it in a few days or so ....


	6. Chapter Five (Part Two)

All We Leave Behind Us

Chapter Five (Part Two)

-x-

“Wow. I didn’t mean to break up your little party.”

Hearing the unexpected voice, Casey instinctively swung around and yanked his SIG off the nightstand, aiming it towards the window.

“Don’t shoot!” the kid sputtered, throwing his hands up. “It’s just Sarah!”

“Stand down, Major, it’s only me,” Sarah muttered, much less impressed by the gun.

By now, Casey saw that, so he rolled his eyes while the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Jesus, Walker, maybe you should think of knocking before you barge in.” He shifted his focus to Chuck, who still had his hands in the air. Without realizing it, Casey had edged in front of the kid, making a decent, muscly wall between the blonde and the nerd. “What if we were getting dressed … or something else, eh?”

Sarah threw a leg over the windowsill, entering Chuck’s bedroom the same way Casey had (through the handy-dandy moron door), and took a moment to glance around. “What exactly is going on here, Casey?”

“What does it look like?” Casey replied, putting his hands on his hips. It brought unwanted attention to his flannel pajama bottoms. Great. Now she really was staring.

“Well, honestly, a sleepover,” she replied, wary, “so my eyes must be deceiving me.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sarah.” Chuck looked down at his snowflake PJs and then Casey’s more refined sleep pants. “I think this does meet the criteria for a sleepover.”

“Hmm. Casey, are you all right?” Sarah’s expression shifted to concern. “Is there anything going on that you want to share with me?”

“Wait. Did Casey just say, or something else?” Chuck managed, sucking in a breath. “Like … like what now?”

“You heard me.” Casey didn’t break eye contact with Sarah as he spoke. “Things will be changing a little around here. There might be times we don’t want the CIA bursting in, guns drawn, breaking up our … sleep.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the nerd mouth, “What the hell did you give him?!”

Sarah shrugged helplessly. “John, have you been drinking?”

“Wait, is this a joke? That’s it, isn’t it?” The kid now sounded momentarily betrayed. “He didn’t put you up to this –”

“Of course not,” Sarah replied immediately.

“Then what do you think is going on?”

“Can it.” Casey rolled his eyes again and placed his SIG back on the nightstand. “Do you two girls mind not talking about me like I’m not here?” He was still standing between Walker and the kid, so he had to turn his head to glare at one and then the other. “Already bugging the piss out of me and you just got here, Walker.”

“Well, now, that did sound normal,” Chuck observed, squinting at him.

“Agreed.” Sarah eyed him for a moment before she eased around Casey as if circling an exhibit in a museum. “Casey, are you … okay? Did something, um, happen last night that we need to talk about?” It was insulting that she shifted her gaze up to the top of his head. “Did you forget to duck your head in a doorway?”

“Nothing wrong with my head, Walker,” Casey ground out.

“Wow, um, you really are in your pajamas,” she said, her eyes roaming up and down his body. “And Chuck said when he woke up, you were in his room?”

“In my bed,” Chuck corrected. “So you can see why I was a little –”

“Hysterical?” Casey suggested.

Chuck scowled. “I was going to say ... excitable.”

“Heh.”

Ignoring that, Chuck folded his arms over his chest to examine Casey thoroughly. “But it was justified, right?” After a few seconds of perusal, he snuck in to himself, “I mean, not that it wasn’t … well ....”

“Welcome?” Sarah joked lightly. “That is what you wanted, right? Or should I say, him?”

“Sarah.” Chuck cringed. “I never said –”

“Shut it,” Casey grumbled, coming to his rescue before he could finish that. “Both of you.” Christmas spirit or not, girl talk was where he had to draw the line. “Listen, CIA, you’re going to have to get used to me hanging around here a bit more in the future. That means back off on the surveillance. I’ll be the one ... handling the asset.”

“Um, handle? Here?” Chuck looked from the window, to the door, and then to the bed. Whatever happened in that brain of his almost had him stumbling backwards. “Wow, I – uh. Right here, you mean?”

The NSA agent stretched out an arm to keep him from falling, and now that he had him, what the hell, why not? He wrapped it around the kid’s bony waist, drawing him a little closer to his big body. “Got a problem with that, Bartowski?”

Chuck’s eyes darted down, seeming to take note of Casey’s t-shirt stretched interestingly around his shoulders, then further down to his pajama-clad thighs. It took him a few seconds to turn beet red and drag his eyes back up to Casey’s face. “No?”

“Good.” Casey gave one succinct nod. “That settles it.”

“Hold on,” Sarah said, taking hold of Casey’s sleeve. She wasn’t so sure how this information jived with the announcement from last night. “Can I have a word with you? John?”

“Uh-oh. I know the drill by now,” Chuck said, petulant. “Is this one of those Mom and Dad private chat times? Do you need the Intersect to leave?”

In case he really tried to leave, Casey checked the kid’s movement by tightening the forearm around his waist, and Casey felt a tensing of lean muscles along his hip and bicep.

It was oddly ... pleasant. Something told Casey that he wasn’t going to mind the learning curve with Chuck if it meant being pressed up to something that hard that could push right back into him.

“No, what I have to say, I can say here.” Casey kept his eyes pinned to Walker. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wait a minute.” Chuck’s head spun from Casey, to Sarah, and back to Casey. “You were planning on going somewhere? Such as leaving? But ... how? Why?”

“I said it’s not happening,” Casey announced firmly. He needed to cut off Walker before she could open her big mouth again. “It’s simple. I had plans. They changed. End of story. We’re going to work things out. Take it slow ... but make it – more than a cover.”

“More than a cover?” Sarah asked. She wasn’t even looking at Chuck, but directly at him, holding their asset close to his body. A look of realization appeared on her face when she saw what Casey meant. “Just like that?”

“Wait.” Chuck stared at Casey, the kid still red from embarrassment. “Can we get back to the part where Casey was leaving?”

“You heard me, CIA.” Casey glanced between them. “Now can we put this shit behind us? It’s Christmas. Then ... we have a job to do.”

“So you’re still ... in?” Sarah wanted to know.

“Hell, yes. We’re going to take down Fulcrum. Get that thing out of his head.” From last night, Casey remembered the cards in the shoebox and the broken-hearted look on the man’s face standing next to him. “And we’re going to help find the kid’s dad before the wedding.”

Chuck‘s eyes narrowed a bit. “How – how did you know –”

“It’s my job.” At that point, Casey’s voice lowered as he turned his mouth towards the kid’s ear, lips tickled by a few wayward dark curls. “Are you gonna be okay with that ..?”

Chuck slanted his head to watch him carefully. He had to be feeling both hollow that Casey had considered departing but happy with his decision to stay. “I’m ... in shock, honestly, but I think, um.” He paused, slowly turning on a shy smile, “There’s no one else I’d like to have here to protect me.”

“I guess that does settle it.” Sarah spotted the leather shorts Casey had thrown over the desk chair. “Huh. Having those tight buns wrapped in lederhosen isn’t so bad either.”

Casey glared at her. “Since I’m staying, we might have to rethink the wiener gig.”

“But where will I go when I get hungry for – uh, never mind.” Chuck licked his lips and now, on top of everything else, he was blushing again. “Oh, God.”

“Smart, Chuck. I should be more careful when I visit from now on.” Sarah’s smile could light up solar systems. “Hey, maybe you two could work out a system. Sock on the knob seems so cliché. What about the suspenders?”

Chuck buried his head in his hands.

-x-

“I know it’s here somewhere,” Chuck said, stretching out on his hands and knees. He continued to paw through loose wrapping paper and ribbons under the tree. After a half minute, he pulled back with a small present in snowflake paper Casey recognized from the night before. Chuck had tried to give him the gift at the Wienerlicious until Casey had informed him they would see each other on Christmas Day. To go through the flash reports and get in some physical training, Casey had reminded him.

“What’s that?” Ellie asked. She was snuggled up in a new robe next to the Captain, holding a mug of coffee and looking content.

“Ta da. Casey’s gift.” Chuck sat down on the floor at Casey’s feet, crossed his legs and draped an arm over the agent’s knee. “Open it up.”

Casey lifted a brow. Not at the gift, but how touchy-feely Chuck was getting now that Casey had green-lighted a different kind of handler relationship. Already it looked as if the physical activity would be moving along if the kid had anything to say about it.

Casey wasn’t about to complain. In fact, that arm alone, casually resting on Casey’s leg, sent unfamiliar yet not unpleasant warmth through his body. Glancing down, he examined his asset in a new light, curly head and all. When something caught his eye, he felt his brow wrinkle. Did the nerd always have long lashes? Eyes the color of smoky bourbon? Or did he just notice it now?

“Hey, is everything okay?” Chuck ran a thumb lightly back and forth over Casey’s knee cap.

Casey jolted and shook his head. “Yeah, why?”

“You were, um, staring.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Well, I’m not the expert here, but you were staring. Oh. Do I have something on my lips?” It wasn’t necessary, but Chuck wiped them with the back of his hand before he smiled up at Casey with a questioning look. “Better?”

Damn. Those eyes. Talk about dangerous. They should be registered weapons, especially with the way the kid knew how to use them.

Casey rolled his eyes, more at himself for being an idiot, and gave in to the urge to ruffle a few curls at the kid’s collar. “Why don’t you show me what you have in your hand?” he suggested. Deflect away from that look. For now.

“Oh, right. Here.” Chuck handed off the package, but not without first flashing that grin. “I’m sorry. It’s not the best, but it’s … useful.”

“Don’t apologize.” Casey took the box from him and looked over to see everyone watching them. Great. An audience. He turned his attention to tearing at the paper. When it fell away, the agent unveiled a wall mounted alarm clock.

“Wow ....” Ellie managed.

Casey held it up for everyone to see as if they weren’t already taking in every move. “Guess I was bad this year,” he said, needling the kid.

“Chuck?” Ellie shot him a disbelieving look. “You got your boyfriend an alarm clock? For Christmas?”

“Why? Is that bad?”

Ellie slapped a hand on her forehead.

“Hey, Babe,” Devon said, elbowing her, “it could just mean he wants John to get up a little earlier. You know, have some time in the sack before breakfast.” Devon winked and would’ve made a rude hand motion if Ellie didn’t reach over to grab onto them.

“Devon! That’s my baby brother you’re talking about!”

“Ah. Hey, about that,” Chuck broke in uneasily. “It has nothing to do with the clock. His was broken. I saw he needed a new one.” The kid then deliberately moved up onto the sofa next to Casey, his hips and knees sliding right up to his, until the agent felt something snug against his left side. “Right, John?” Casey considered leaning into that firm body, but the kid took care of that by pressing in close, his lips warm at Casey’s cheek. “His old one seemed to have an accident,” he whispered. “With a loaded gun.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at that little smile. Okay, so yeah, the old alarm clock had a bullet hole in it after Bryce Larkin breezed into town and later left with the stench of arrogant smartass popping out of his tail pipe. And Chuck was a little more observant than Casey gave him credit for.

“I get impatient sometimes in the morning,” Casey muttered as a lame explanation.

“I’ll have to remember that,” Chuck said against his temple. Then he stroked his back and kissed his cheek before pulling away. “Impatience can be useful, though ....”

He did ... what? Kiss?

Was the asset flirting with him?

Casey cleared his throat. “Actually, I needed a new one, so thanks,” he said for the audience. “Thank you, Bar – Chuck.”

“I did you get you one more thing.” Chuck pulled back long enough to lift the lid on the alarm clock’s box to grab another small box from within. It was wrapped in the same paper. “This isn’t as boring, I promise. I just hope you like it.”

The kid actually looked nervous as Casey pulled away at the paper. When it revealed a tiny black box, Casey opened it and peered inside.

“Well? What do you think?” Chuck bent forward to get a better look. “Do you ... like them? I can take them back if you don’t. Really, you can be honest.”

Casey looked them over but he couldn’t find a good reply to that. Instead, he bit down on his lips and ran a thumb over the brushed gold disks the size of dimes, each with inset American flags. “Cufflinks?” he asked.

“What can I say?” Chuck patted his knee. “You look good in a suit, so I thought these would be the perfect finishing touch.” He frowned when something occurred to him. “Um, not that you need anything like that, because the suit on its own is just fine, trust me –”

“Chuck,” Sarah said under her breath.

“Okay, shutting up now.”

“Chuck, they’re beautiful.” Ellie, sitting across from them, twisted forward to get a better look. “Where did you find them?”

“A vintage shop on Clarence, actually.” The kid shrugged like it was no big deal. “I saw them and thought of Ca-John right away. I had a feeling he would like them.”

Casey could feel the kid watching him, expecting some type of reaction, whether polite acceptance, or just a flicker of excitement. The box stayed balanced on his knee, his fingers resting around the cufflinks, and he just continued to study the gold embossed with red, white, and blue. “She’s right. They’re beautiful,” Casey finally said. “Someone took good care of them all these years, and I plan on doing the same.”

Chuck, maybe hearing something different, something deeper, brought his body in even closer. “You do like them?”

“Nah.”

“What?”

“I love them,” Casey had to admit under his breath. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get a picture of the two of you!” Ellie said, getting her phone off of the coffee table. “Smile!”

Chuck hadn’t removed his hand from Casey’s knee, and his position forced Casey to be used as a side pillow. Casey didn’t mind. In fact, he automatically put an arm around the kid’s middle, those curls soft against his cheek. “Glad you like them,” Chuck said, obediently pointing a smile straight ahead for the picture. After the flash, he squeezed Casey’s leg. “I’m not completely incompetent at some things, you know.”

Casey had the distinct impression Chuck wasn’t referring to his gift selecting abilities. Shit. He really was flirting.

“Well, John, I thought you would have no problem topping the alarm clock, but now that my baby brother has come through with a real gift ....” Ellie trailed off. There was an uncomfortable pause, but after a minute Casey caught on.

This was probably when he was expected to produce something of equal significance for his new ... boyfriend.

“I’ll give you yours in private,” Casey said to Chuck.

“Private?” He could almost feel Sarah’s suppressed laughter.

Meanwhile, Ellie nearly choked on a Christmas cookie.

“Oh, boy.” Chuck hid his face behind a huge mug of hot cocoa. “I don’t think he meant –”

“Awesome. Sounds like the west wing of the apartment is getting ready to revoke the vow of celibacy.” Devon bent over to clap Casey on the back, the other hand raised high. “Way to go, bro. Up top.”

Chuck‘s jaw fell open. “Devon, we aren’t – Casey didn’t mean – oh, no.”

Casey let out a resigned sigh and returned the high five.

Judging by Ellie’s subsequent reaction, it was safe to say she would invest in earplugs if it made her little brother happy. She blinked at both of them with the faintest hint of embarrassment and began clearing away coffee mugs. “I need to check on the turkey. And the ham. John, I’m still in shock. How did you know Chuck was going to forget our main course?

“Did I say I’m sorry, sis? I am, you know.” Now that he had been rescued by his handler/boyfriend, Chuck could actually smile about it as he slid a hand over Casey’s upper thigh to dig his fingers into the muscles there. He turned to study Casey and spoke a little more softly against his cheek again. “Luckily, I have you watching over me.”

Sitting this close, Casey could make out the scent of his shampoo, one he must’ve borrowed from Ellie because it was cottony and vanilla, clean, but still gave him the whiff that was pure Chuck. “Not exactly in the job description, but hey, a good boyfriend comes prepared.”

“I’m glad you take your new job seriously.”

Casey barely had time to tentatively settle his hand on Chuck’s before the kid slid his hand unceremoniously out from under his to lock fingers.

And he definitely didn’t have time to tuck the tiny box away before Chuck scooted into him and dropped a quick ‘thank you’ kiss on his lips.

Whatever Ellie was saying to Sarah was immediately cut off. Casey counted three seconds of awkwardness before Ellie cleared her throat and resumed collecting mugs to carry into the kitchen, and another four before he could start breathing again. Strike everything he knew about the kid and PDA.

When he pulled back, Chuck was smiling at him. “I am glad you like the present,” he said, his voice just a husky whisper that Casey had never heard before, “but honestly, it makes me happier that you’re here today.” He darted a look around to make sure everyone else was busy helping in the kitchen. “And that whole thing about the west wing of the apartment? It would be no problem here. Just sayin’. “

Casey tried to mask his features, something he usually was pretty damn good at doing. But when Chuck leaned forward and caught his lips before Casey could draw back, he gave up on that and anything else. Casey didn’t jolt this time, and the kid kissed him a bit more firmly, more heat behind it than the one a minute ago, his hand holding Casey’s so he wouldn’t think of scooting back.

The grip wasn’t necessary. Casey hadn’t even thought about it.

That alone was enough to startle the bejesus out of him. And with Chuck gently pushing, Casey immediately parted his lips, allowing his tongue to just lightly play there along his bottom lip. If the kid kept that up, Casey had to wonder if they would hold out until New Year’s Day. He started to push back, but something in him didn’t want to, and instead one hand ended up resting on Chuck’s smooth nape.

When the kid at last released him, Casey let in a light gasp between his lips. Their faces were still close, and Chuck, his dark eyes skimming over him, seemed amused by the reaction he had caused.

“Should I have asked first, or is this okay?” Chuck wanted to know. “I mean, I’ve been waiting, probably longer than you have – which is easy to do, since you’ve been my boyfriend for only a few –”

“My, my, my,” Sarah drawled from behind the sofa. They both looked up to see her flipping a few locks of blonde hair between her fingers, so Casey figured the wily bitch must’ve slid over while getting out of helping in the kitchen.

“Walker, what the hell –”

“Hm. When John Casey sets his mind to something, he really does know how to jump in with both feet. I have to say, Major, I’m quite pleased with the way you’ve taken to your assignment today.”

“Can it, CIA,” Casey mumbled. “Did you get lost on the way to the kitchen? Or did you decide to pawn off the women’s work on Ellie?”

Chuck lifted his head, lips wet from what he’d been doing, and guiltily wiped his mouth. “Um, I know you’re provoking her, John, but you probably don’t want Ellie to hear that. Your Boyfriend in Good Standing status might just get rescinded. And you don’t even want to know what happened when Bryce – um, forget I said anything.”

“Good thinking.” Casey squinted over at him.

“Hear that, Casey?” Sarah looked over towards the kitchen. “Now you have two women to please if you want things to go smoothly with Chuck.”

“Bite me, Walker.”

“And on that happy note, I should go help Ellie,” the kid said, smoothing his hair down. “You two kids have fun. Can I get you anything?”

Sarah merely tilted her head at them. “Chuck, you stay put. You two look ... comfortable. I’ll go help Ellie and Devon in the kitchen.”

As soon as she sashayed out of the room, Chuck turned to Casey. “I’ll see if there’s more cocoa,” he said. He tapped Casey’s leg and climbed to his feet. “Save my spot.”

Though he longed to stay and keep the sofa toasty, Casey got up and stood next to him. Realistically, today couldn’t be all holly and mistletoe. “Listen, I have some business to take care of,” he said to Chuck. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Oh.” Chuck’s face sank. It was as if someone had stolen the batteries out of his game controller. “Okay.”

“Hang on.” When Chuck started to back away, the kid was surprised that Casey intercepted him, gripping his waist and tugging him back so that the rangy yet strong body was against Casey’s chest again. The tight hold got his attention. “Don’t believe me?” Casey asked.

“Well, you have to admit, Casey, I’m still a little – okay, shocked is the word here – about what’s going on – and –”

Casey reached up and placed his thumb against Chuck’s chin, nudging it up with purpose. He then sealed his ramblings with a press of lips to his, and Chuck didn’t make a move to stop him. When Chuck tried to strain into him, feeling restive, Casey smiled against his mouth, doing his best to deny the twinge of arousal. That was far enough for now, he figured, just a reassurance.

Dropping his hand from the kid’s stubbly cheek, Casey stepped back far enough to peer into his startled eyes. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. Remember that.”

Chuck paused and glanced around to make sure nobody else had mysteriously bobbed in. Then he quickly rubbed a thumb over his own lips before settling a hand on Casey’s collar. “You kissed me.”

“So?”

“You really are ... going to do this.”

“Yeah, so get used to that, too.”

“Okay. I believe you,” Chuck said, his small smile growing more real. “I’ll see you in an hour.” Suddenly realizing it had to be spy-related, some wind fell out of his sails and he straightened a little. “What is it about, anyway?”

“Business.”

“You’re not ... going to kill anyone?”

“Not yet,” Casey said, and added a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe after Christmas.”

“Wow. And they say the holiday spirt is dead.”

“Shut it.” Cashing in on his boyfriend prerogative, Casey gave him a small ass tap. “I’ll be back in an hour, kid. You can save me a spot at the table.”

-x-

Once Casey entered his apartment, he went up the stairs to his bedroom and replaced the jammies with a green polo shirt and jeans, a more dignified ensemble when calling his boss on the holiest day of the year. After putting the Hot Pocket box in the trash, he checked his watch. “Go time,” the agent said to himself. Since she hated tardiness almost as much as he did, Casey strode into the living room and stood in front of his home computer, typed out a few keystrokes. He remembered to look down at himself to make sure he was tucked in just as the screen flickered to life.

“General,” Casey said, nodding at Beckman. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”

Beckman folded her arms on her desk and peered at him from her home three thousand miles away. The festive red and white sweater was totally out of place on her, so he tried not to focus on the dancing reindeer over her chest. “Major Casey, I have to say, your message was unexpected. After our discussion last night, I thought the matter was now settled to your satisfaction.” Her face appeared more pinched than usual, and he pegged that look in the vicinity of ‘this better be good’ or ‘don’t tell me you misplaced the Intersect again’. “It is Christmas after all, and you now have what you wanted – your transfer.”

“That is the purpose of this call, Ma’am,” Casey informed her. Preparing himself, he squared his shoulders. “I’m officially withdrawing my request to transfer out of the Intersect project.”

The General’s expression didn’t waver. “I have to say this is unexpected and not characteristic of you, Major. Once you make up your mind, I’ve never known you to change it.”

Nice way to call him a stubborn ass, he supposed. “I’m making an exception this time.”

“I’m sure the most recent developments behind this decision ought to be ... enlightening.”

It was truly a gift, Casey thought, how she could say “Explain yourself. Now,” without actually voicing the words. She had settled back in her chair and was looking at him expectantly, and Casey took that as his cue.

“I’ve concluded that my usefulness here in LA is more critical to national security than being reassigned out in the field,” Casey said, searching for a way to avoid describing his night. “The safety of my team is my utmost objective, and one I don’t plan on giving up at any time.”

“Your request is ill-timed, I must say, Major.” Beckman placed her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers in front of her chin. “Your replacement has already been briefed – conclusively – on the Intersect. His identity, his value, and the team’s mission here. You’re aware of the danger this has now introduced, considering the lockdown of information we’ve put in place to protect the Intersect.”

“I understand, General.”

Beckman’s frown deepened. “Yes, which means you do understand we now have another agent outside the team who is fully aware of every facet of this mission. An agent who will now be in as much danger as any of you simply for what he knows. A liability to the agency, if you will.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” Casey said, authority in his growl, “I have the solution to that dilemma.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m requesting that you dispatch a team to the agent’s residence as soon as we end this call.”

“To do what, if I may ask?”

Casey moved a half step forward and put both hands on the desk in front of him. “To arrest him. Better yet, toss him into a deep, dark hole where he’ll never see the light of day again.” He suspected she had a similar cave prepared for the Intersect someday, but that would be another issue. “If I had my choice, I’d then cap it off, fill it with gasoline and light a match, but I suspect you don’t always approve of my methods.”

By the time he had reached the final verdict, Beckman bent forward in her chair, her jaw tight. “I suppose you’re prepared to tell me why I would do that,” she demanded.

“He’s a Fulcrum agent.”

At the mention of the enemy agency that had infiltrated her domain, Beckman was on her feet. “John,” she said, her voice cutting through after moment of silence, “what you are suggesting is that my most promising, rising spy is a traitor. Slandering a highly commended agent is defamation, but in this case it would be a character assassination. Before you go any further, I need to know precisely what was contained within the Intersect’s flash that would incriminate your designated successor.”

Of course, she would assume it was a flash. Right now, the easy route would be to fabricate a story, supported by the kid’s purported insight. And the route to get him straight into the pysch ward at Fort Meade, four padded walls and all, would be to tell the truth.

Casey opted for neither. “General, do you trust me?”

Beckman didn’t quite know what to say, judging by the mystified look she shot him. Casey stared back, not flinching. “You’ve been my top agent for ten years,” she admitted, taking her seat again, “and worked your way up to that position for ten years before that. The question must be rhetorical, John, but it’s not an answer.”

“If you trust me, you’ll arrest Daniel Shaw for treason.”

Forget being mystified, Casey thought. As her eyes swept over him, the General’s mien turned deadly suspicious. “We both know I never revealed the name of your replacement. I need to know how you acquired such information.”

“And my question still stands, General.” Casey lowered his head to meet her blazing eyes on the monitor. Damn, if this tactic didn’t work, say goodbye to the nut sack, Major. “Do you trust me?”

Beckman began tapping the eraser of her pencil on the varnished desktop. After making him squirm for a minute longer, she crossed her arms over the reindeer. “I’ll dispatch a team as soon as we end this call. We’ll begin harvesting data from his communications to see who he has been working with. They’ll also be brought in for interrogation.”

It took everything Casey had not to let out a huge breath. His balls would be safe for another day. Good thing, because based on the kid’s aggressiveness, he might actually be getting some use out of that part of his anatomy. “Thank you, General.”

“Is that all, Major?” she asked.

“Yes ... no, it’s not,” he said, surprising even himself as he spoke. “I’d like to be the one to lead his interrogation.”

After throwing it out there, Beckman remained silent, obviously processing the request. Given that it was Christmas Day, maybe she’d be in the gift giving mood. When Casey didn’t elaborate, one eyebrow arched upward.

“A moment ago you asked to stay in Echo Park, Major. Now you’re asking to return to DC to interrogate a purported traitor. Forgive me if I’m confused by your request.”

Casey may regret this shortly, but there was no retreating now. “Since we’ll already be in the, er, Midwest for a few days,” he said, “it would only be a side trip. Give me twenty-four hours with Shaw. He’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

Ever see anyone beg for waterboarding?

“I had no idea that the team was going on a little jaunt outside of California.” Beckman’s lips firmed in a line of disapproval. “This is highly irregular.”

“I have weeks of unclaimed paid leave to take. You yourself told me that. I plan on visiting my ... family.”

“Your ... family?”

“Yes. With the Intersect. We can’t leave him to his own devices in Echo Park, and it would be good for the cover to meet his boyfriend’s family.”

Cover, because Hell No was he going to let on to anything else right now. It was one of the unspoken rules. There were just some things the bosses never need to know.

“What about Agent Walker?”

“Walker will be traveling with us under cover for additional protection.” Casey suppressed a smile. The barn was usually warm if she kept the woodstove stoked. “He’ll be safe.”

“Were you going to inform me of this news?” The General still looked displeased, and there would undoubtedly be further discussion face to face in DC. “Matters involving the Intersect stop at my desk, Major.”

“My mother ... convinced me. I planned to request permission today.”

Beckman lifted a brow. “I see. Mothers have a tendency to do that,” she said, and Casey caught just the slightest relaxation in her shoulders. “Permission granted. You deserve it – and I’m pleased that perhaps the Intersect and his family have influenced you enough to realize everyone should embrace their family. Even you, John.”

“Thank you. We’ll be departing tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll send a private plane.” At his confused look, she smiled. “We can’t have the Intersect flying coach now, can we? Security purposes, of course.”

Not to mention unspent budgets to burn through by year end. Bureaucrats. Eh. “Of course, General.”

“I do like one part of this plan. When you arrive in DC, it will give my analysts an opportunity to examine the Intersect in person.”

Casey bristled, struggling to keep his reply in check. He almost succeeded. “Your analysts would do themselves a favor by putting away their PET scans and meet the man. Chuck Bartowski. Maybe find out who they’re fu-manipulating and figure out a way to get that thing out of his head.”

He stopped himself before he could elaborate on their idiocy. Christ. He really was going to lose the jewels with that one.

“Agent Casey,” Beckman said, almost cautiously. “You’ve become emotionally bonded to your asset.”

“Ma’am, I –”

“Let me continue.” She stopped tapping her armrest to fold her hands in front of her. “I see that as a strength. Your recommendation suggests that you see more to him than the Intersect. That gives you insight. Unheard of loyalty. I’ll never have to question you, John, which is good. Because we’re going to be in for the fight of our lives with Fulcrum.” She settled back in her chair and clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m pleased that you’re ready for it.”

-x-

Casey led the way into the kitchen carrying the dirty dinner plates. Some called it drawing the short straw to be stuck with clean-up, but the agent figured being able to share the dinner Ellie had put on the table far outweighed the cost of having to wash while Morgan dried.

At least, it seemed fair, until the tiny moron hobbled into the kitchen, wincing as he grabbed a dishrag and opened his pie hole.

“Hey, big guy. My foot is killing me. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit here and wait until you’re done washing, and then I’ll take over from there.” Morgan spotted a counter stool and brought it around by the sink to take a seat. “Man, those SuperCube 4000s need to come with a warning label or something.”

“Most people know not to drop a subwoofer the size of a refrigerator on their foot,” Casey replied, eyeing him up and down. “Otherwise, it’d be known as a Moron Label.”

“Ha. Thanks for your sympathy.” Morgan put his elbows on his knees and let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve been working out. I thought I could lift it.”

Casey scoffed and began filling the sink. Ellie had given precise instructions that her good china needed to be hand washed. While the sink filled, Casey rewound the vision from the third visitor. Morgan would die? But this is just his foot. Only an idiot would find a way to die from an injury like that –

Great, he just answered his own question.

“You told Ellie you’re going to see a doctor on Monday?” Casey asked, trying to sound uninterested as he scrubbed a plate.

Strangely, there was silence. Enough silence for Casey to put the clean plate on the dishrack and turn around to really eyeball him. “Well?”

Morgan put his hands out in a helpless gesture. “I had to tell her that, man. I can’t let her know the truth. She’s a doctor. She’ll think I’m a total screw-up.”

Casey bit his tongue rather than tell him everyone thought that already. “The truth?”

From his perch on the stool, Morgan swiveled around to ensure no one else was eavesdropping. Seeing it was safe, he turned back to Casey with a sheepish look. “I can’t go to the doctor.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know how much that costs?” Morgan shook his head. “Forget Starbucks, man, I can’t even afford Dunkin’ Donuts. How can I afford the marvels of modern medicine?”

“Insurance, moron. I’m sure even a shithole like Buy More offers it to the employees.”

“Oh, they do.”

“So? Go to the doctor.”

“Well, there’s a slight problem,” Morgan mumbled. “I had to opt out.”

“Opt out?” Casey walked over to the stool where the bearded troll sat. “Why on earth would you do that?”

Morgan managed a ‘duh’ look . Casey opted not to punch him in the face. “You heard me. And listen, before you give me that look, I had a choice: pay insurance premiums, or save money to move out of my mother’s basement.” He waved his hands in the air. “I have to get out of there, dude. Have you seen the basement? It’s got orange shag carpeting. From the 70s. That’s older than me!”

Casey should really let Mother Nature cull the herd with this one, he thought. Except he couldn’t let that happen to Chuck. How Morgan would die, he had no idea. Hell, Casey had once heard of a recruit who died of a bone infection, septic poisoning, and if anyone could manage that with an injured foot, it would be the troll.

Then and there, Casey made a decision. “You still have my ATM card?” he asked.

“Uh, right. I forgot.” Morgan smiled guiltily and began to fish the card out of his pocket. “I didn’t lose it. I have it right – oh, here it is.” Holding it out, he waited for Casey to take it from him.

“Keep it.”

“Keep ... wait. What?”

“I said keep it,” Casey repeated with a bit more conviction. “Make an appointment. Get a clean bill of health. Then you can give it back to me.”

“But–!”

“Listen, moron, put it back in your pocket before I change my mind,” Casey said, taking hold of his shirt. “And don’t lose it.”

Morgan glanced down at the giant fist that promised to cut off air to his windpipe if he didn’t comply, and then stuffed the card back in his pocket. “Dude, I owe you for this.”

“Gonna make the appointment?” Casey gave him a little motivational shake.

“Y-yes! I mean – wow – I see why Chuck thinks you can be a little intense. Sure, man, he sees the hotness in it, but honestly, dude, I only see my life flashing in front of my eyes – ow, ow, ow – okay!”

“Keep your voice down,” Casey ordered. “If you tell anyone that I let you borrow that card, I will personally shove your foot so far up your ass your shit will have the Nike logo branded on it.”

“Um, these aren’t Nike, they’re–”

“Narrow enough to fit where I’ll shove them?”

“Whoa. Chuck’s going to have his hands full,” Morgan observed, but he did pat his pocket where the card was safely stowed. “I promise. Yes, I’ll see a doctor.”

Casey took his time letting go of the shirt. “I will be checking the bank statements. If I see one charge that looks suspiciously like a new Xbox game –”

“Death by asphyxiation in the floor model refrigerator. Got it.” Morgan pulled back and adjusted his collar. “Dude, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just shut up about it. That would be thanks enough – oof.”

Before Casey could back up to the sink or even think, a pair of short yet surprisingly strong arms encircled his waist. Morgan just about cracked his spine with the thankful hug. “Dude!” the troll said, his words muffled into Casey’s shirt, “They were wrong! You aren’t just a scary ass-kicking robot. You actually have feel–”

“Finish that, and I will grind you up in the sink’s waste disposal.”

“Sorry, man.”

“And if you ever bring this up, I will kick your little –”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” an amused voice asked. Casey turned to the doorway to see his newly minted boyfriend gaping at them. “Are you ... hugging?”

“Hell, no,” Casey said.

Chuck’s eyes cut from Casey to Morgan, now wrapped around the agent and holding him in a grip that rivaled anything Ellie could dole out. “I don’t know, Casey. All due respects, but that looks like a hug.”

“Eh.” Casey put a hand on the moron’s forehead and gave him a shove backwards. The little barnacle was stubborn, but he did stumble backwards towards the stool. “He fell,” the agent explained dourly. “The troll decided to use me as a hitching post.”

Chuck eye’s bulged. “Casey ... did you do something that would cause Morgan to ... hug you?”

“Man! You are not going to believe it!” Morgan blurted. “He loaned me his –”

A subatomic growl drowned out anything Morgan was about to say. Hearing the death threat within it, the moron shut his trap, and both Chuck and Morgan pivoted around to gauge the source of that noise. The gnome had turned pale, as he should have.

Chuck just peered at Casey curiously. “Okay, it’s a secret,” the kid finally said, a grin easing onto his face, “but from here on out, I’ll be the one taking care of anything in the hugging department when it comes to this guy.”

“I’m not much of a hugger – oof.” The rest of Casey’s point was halted when Chuck came around him from behind, leaning in close. The kid clamped his arms around Casey’s and held him there for all of ten seconds before lowering his lips to Casey’s neck, grazing the skin just above his shirt in a light kiss.

“You’ll get used to it. And I’ve found that when it comes to John Casey, distraction is key,” he murmured. “I hope this is ... okay?”

“Yeah ... it’s okay,” Casey said, forcing himself to hold still when Chuck moved his hand to knead his waist.

“Good, then I’ll keep doing it.” Chuck’s fingers continued to draw circles along the dense muscles at his ribcage. As the lanky body pressed into him, the fist of tension was replaced by something just as fierce but a lot more welcome. Before Casey could think too much of it, Chuck settled his hands on the agent’s hips and stepped around to face him, taking that body heat with him. “I can go as slow as you want,” he whispered against Casey’s chin, even as he slid his hand around his neck. “You just tell me what you want.”

When the kid drew back, Casey could only blink at him. Hell. Any more of those soft caresses, and they’d be sneaking out to the damn barn at Mother’s. His mind was already plotting how they’d be able to ditch Walker in the process –

“You okay?”

Casey jumped again – shit, he really had to stop doing that – and looked over to see Chuck watching him curiously. “I have your present,” Casey told him, changing the subject. “As soon as we’re done with the dishes, we can go into the bedroom and I’ll give it to you.”

Morgan cleared his throat, a happy little noise, while Chuck simply blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You dog, you, John,” the moron piped up. “Hey, should I find a way to distract Ellie? How about the ol’ tablecloth magician trick?”

Casey glared down at the idiot. “Not that kind of present.”

Maybe it was an optical illusion, but the kid looked briefly disappointed before he plastered on that all-too innocent smile again. “Lead the way,” Chuck said.

-x-

It took more spy skills than even Casey acquired to try to pull the kid aside and into the bedroom without being noticed. Because as soon as he rounded the corner with Chuck, Ellie and Sarah looked up from the TV and pointed inquisitive expressions at them.

“Going somewhere?” Ellie asked.

“I need to borrow him,” Casey explained, and he gave a little tug on Chuck’s fingers, linked with his. Before the women could ask another question, Casey dragged the kid down the darkened hallway to the bedroom.

Right into Morgan and Devon, who had popped out from the master bedroom doorway. Casey did not want to know what they were doing in there, but he overhead something about ‘taming the mane’ and hair products.

“We’ll keep them busy,” Morgan whispered, patting Devon on the back. “You just go ... do whatever naughty boys do when Santa’s not looking. Right, man?”

“Got you covered, bro,” the Captain added.

Casey groaned to himself and picked up the pace. The sound of a high five behind their backs confirmed what they thought the kid was getting for Christmas this year.

“Get in here and shut the door,” Casey said, pulling Chuck past the threshold. Safely inside, he let go of Chuck’s hand and walked over to the overnight bag he had packed. “Is your family always going to be this meddling?”

“It’s not really meddling, but ... okay, okay ... it might be a little,” Chuck conceded. When Casey turned around, Chuck shifted his stance so instead of just closing the door, he propped his back against it and crossed his arms over his chest. “Soooo ... here we are.”

It wasn’t a defensive move, Casey saw. It just made it easier for the kid to make sure no one was coming ... or going.

When Chuck then braced the bottom of one foot against the door, Casey did a double-take. He was much more familiar with being the predator rather than the prey in any scenario, but the playful look in the kid’s eyes said that this move was to ensure a little privacy. “She’s just a little excited about, well, us, and ... she may have a problem with being this obvious.”

“Bartowski, what do you think is going to happen in here?”

“Should I put some music on?” Chuck asked as he pushed off from the door, but not before checking the knob one more time. Crossing the room, he opened a relic from the eighties, a record player that was sitting on top of his dresser, and began sifting through a few albums. “I have just the thing ... hang on. You’re going to love it.”

Casey blinked at him. Christ. He doesn’t think ...? Now? Whatever was going through that mop head of his, Casey had to fight what might’ve been his first bout of flushed cheeks in, well, ever. “Do you want your gift?”

Chuck stopped sifting. His head sprung up. “Um, sure. But, I’m – ah – setting the mood,” he said. “Jazz ...eighties anthems ... ballads? Pick your poison.”

“The mood, huh?” Casey reached into the overnight bag he had thrown together earlier and pulled out the hastily wrapped present. “You do know your present is in a box, right?”

“And you do know I’m teasing you, right?” Chuck pulled out a record, put it on the turntable, and when he turned to Casey, he rolled back on his heels with a little self-satisfied smirk. “Got ya.”

“Little ass wipe,” Casey said, chuckling, which made Chuck grin even harder.

“Do I still get the gift?”

“Heh. Yeah, you’ll get it all right.” Casey rolled the box around in his hands, and remembering the contents, he hesitated and took a deep breath. Now for the serious part. “I ... want you to have this.”

Chuck had his faults, but the kid was always intuitive, and he caught the slight roughness in Casey’s voice as he held out the gift to him. “You really did get me something?”

“What does it look like?”

“Oh. Hah.” Chuck seemed to think he could cover his momentary obliviousness with a smile, and that worked for Casey. As the kid examined the gift, he completely forgot the vinyl in his hand. Or maybe even the thrill of having a man alone in his bedroom. “A gift wasn’t necessary, Casey. Having you here is good enough gift for me – and yes, that does sound just as cheesy in my head right now as you think it did.”

“Take it.” Casey nudged him with an elbow. “Before I change my mind.”

“Spiderman comics wrapping paper – Sunday’s edition?” Chuck held it up and looked at it thoughtfully. “You have good taste.”

“I was in a hurry,” Casey explained. “Open it up before your sister barges in here.”

Chuck laughed. “Afraid she wouldn’t approve of the wrapping paper or the gift?”

“Neither, but she wouldn’t understand why I would give you that.”

“Now, I’m curious,” Chuck said. He had been holding the present, but sometime during his confused perusal of his new boyfriend, he’d begun to pull at the newspaper. It tore away to reveal a small black leather box. The kid crinkled his nose. “Jewelry? Uh-huh, and you accused me of being forward.”

Casey snorted. “Just open the box,” he said, feeling a disruptive case of uncertainty. Would the kid even know what that was? What it meant? “I’m serious when I say she – or anyone else – cannot see that.”

“Hm. Well, I’ve become pretty good at holding secrets,” Chuck said drily, shooting him a look before slowly opening the lid. He squinted down at it, and now the look became confused. “What?”

When Casey simply stared back at him, the kid scanned the contents. After a second, he simply pressed his lips together.

“Didn’t think anything could make you speechless, Intersect,” Casey said, examining the kid’s profile. When Chuck didn’t move, he veered over his shoulder to take a look inside the box. It was smaller than he remembered, but other than that, every detail was perfectly etched into his mind, though it had been months, no, several years since he had looked into that tiny leather case. “You know what this is, Bartowski?”

Chuck shook his head, a move Casey took as no at first. The surprise came a few seconds later when the kid wet his lips and breathed, staring in wonder. “Casey, you can’t give this to me.”

“It’s mine. I can do what I want with it.”

“But ... this?” The kid gingerly looped a finger under the cobalt blue ribbon and held up the medal, watching it twist on the length of silk. “It’s ... too much.”

Casey was pleased to have gotten that reaction, one between awe, which embarrassed him, and the kid’s thrill of discovery of something from Casey’s past. It made him feel slightly exposed, yet for some reason, he was okay with it. He could trust Chuck, couldn’t he?

“Too much?” Casey grunted. “This might come as a surprise, princess, but they give them to you for no charge.”

Chuck didn’t laugh. Instead, he brought the medal closer to his eyes to really study it. But Casey, rather than study the five-pointed bronze star, kept his eyes locked on Chuck’s face. “I have a feeling this cost you more than you’re willing to admit,” the kid said, shifting his eyes past it to gaze at Casey. “How ... how did you get this?”

“That’s classified.”

“This is presented by the President of the United States,” Chuck said.

“Yes, and in this case, it was in a closed door session.” Casey lifted a shoulder at the kid’s baffled look. “Some details of the mission were best left to the imagination. For obvious reasons.”

“But this ... this is a Medal of Honor.” The kid swallowed hard, and Casey had to respect that. He did, too, that day they put him in a fancy-as-shit dress uniform and made him walk into the darkened conference room with a herd of bureaucrats trying not to stare at man who was the reason they had big ass desks and respect in the first place.

“It is,” Casey said. The agent wondered how Chuck even knew what the medal was, but his thoughts were interrupted when he felt those long fingers manacling his wrist. Casey tried to ignore the fact he was now close enough to get Chuck’s scent ... clean skin mixed with vanilla soap, the light touch that became part of the air around him. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You ... can’t do that,” Chuck stuttered. One more look, and he placed it carefully back in the box. “No way in hell are you doing this. You earned it.”

“You did, too.”

“Really? How?” Chuck shook his head at such a dubious suggestion. “The only thing I’ve accomplished is getting thrown in car trunks on a regular basis. But, hey, I did avoid being tossed out of a window, so maybe that was an honor?” The kid rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm. “Here. Take it back.”

Casey pressed it into his hands firmly enough to give him no choice but to hold onto it. “Bartowski, you’re being a numb nuts.”

Chuck raised his eyebrows. “We’ll have to work on nicknames for each other if we’re going to be boyfriends.”

“I call it like it is.” Casey brushed off that pout by taking him by the elbows, bringing his body right up to his. “Come here.”

The kid didn’t exactly cooperate, but he stopped trying to pull back at least. “Casey,” he started, taking a glimpse at the grip on his arm. “Why are you –”

“This isn’t something I take lightly when I say you earned it. The Medal of Honor is awarded for personal acts of valor above and beyond the call of duty.”

“I know that, but –”

“But nothing,” Casey said, stopping him from going on. “Look at you, Bartowski. Three months ago, your life was upended by that arrogant little asshole best friend of yours.”

“Guess you still have some latent hostility for not going for the headshot?”

“Damn straight,” Casey assured him, and he gave his arms a little ‘pay attention’ squeeze. “There are a dozen ways that this could’ve ended badly –”

“Let me go out on a limb and guess. Death by C4, kidnapping, bunker – oh, and poisoning by a maniac gymnast. That counts, too, am I right?”

Casey huffed. “And despite that, you accepted your role and decided to work with us.”

“So? Who wouldn’t?”

“A hell of a lot of people.” Casey leaned in a bit more until his face was only a few inches away from Chuck’s. He could feel the kid holding his breath. “You made the decision to trust us ... for the benefit of your country.”

“Well, you and the great Sarah Walker are quite convincing,” Chuck said, a small smile twisting up on the corner of his mouth. “Even if I can’t bring myself to trust your bosses, I instinctively knew something about you two.”

“What was that?”

“You saw me as a real person. With a family, friends, and ... a real job.”

“Heh.”

“Okay, well, a job.” Chuck heaved a melodramatic sigh. “But not just a glorified container for the Intersect.”

“What we saw,” Casey said, his voice holding a solemn note as he glanced at the box in Chuck’s hand , “was a man willing to make an ultimate sacrifice. And that’s the kind of valor that defines the purpose of this medal.”

Casey could see Chuck wasn’t convinced, and he even tried to back up again. Holding him gently, the agent almost had to shake his head. Bryce Larkin did a hell of a job kicking the self-esteem out of the kid, and someday, even if he had to shove it there himself, Casey was going to make sure Chuck had more than a kernel of confidence lodged into that fluffy head of his. “I still say you’re nuts,” Chuck told him. “You do realize that I’ll never be able to wear it?”

“Yeah, I do,” Casey said. “Except for now.” Taking it by the ribbon, he unfurled the blue silk and placed it over Chuck’s head until it rested around his neck. “Usually not awarded to an honoree wearing snowflake pajamas, but in this case I guess we can turn a blind eye to protocols.”

Now Chuck was smiling again, embarrassed by his rumpled appearance yet ecstatic to learn what his handler/real boyfriend thought of his actions. “Well, it kinda goes along with the unique charm of a nerd,” he mumbled. “Sometimes even we break the protocols –” He stopped abruptly when Casey moved his hand to his waist, guiding the kid back to him. “And while we’re at it, I – I’m thinking there are some other protocols we might want to ditch in the near future.”

“Like what?” Casey asked.

“Well, handler/asset code of behavior for one,” Chuck said. Since Casey still had his hand hooked on the kid’s waistband, when Chuck backed up in the direction of the bed, he pulled Casey with him. “You. Come here ....”

Casey was about to make another comment when he felt fingers against his skin. Chuck’s hand grasped his pajamas at the collar, tugging, and then there were goosebumps. Hot breath ghosted his cheek and neck, and the taste of coffee and maple syrup was on his tongue.

Chuck had pressed his open, soft lips against Casey’s. At first, Casey nearly pulled back to tease the kid for his boldness. But then Chuck sucked on Casey’s tongue, pressing in a little harder until he felt himself make a soft noise in his throat. Suddenly Chuck was the one taking hold of Casey’s face, chin cradled in his palm, holding him there while he kissed him, tentative at first, before delving deeper.

And if Casey wasn’t certain how fast or slow this whole new circumstance would evolve, well, he knew now that if Chuck asked ... there was no way he could say no. While Casey considered the possibility, the hand hanging onto his shirt let go and moved down to splay under his polo shirt, bare skin to bare skin, making Casey’s breath hitch a little as it slid past the sensitive flesh of his lower belly. Then it trailed up his ribcage, caressing each ridge of muscle before sliding back down. By the time the kid tugged him against his lean body, the little jostling and tiny sucks on his tongue were making Casey almost lose his balance.

He wondered how the nerdy man in front of him could pull that off, but it became less important when Chuck slid a hand up and down Casey’s broad back. Sure, the kid might appear to be as skinny as a beanpole, but what he did have was solid, wiry muscles. And when Casey pushed back, Chuck took it from there ... yeah, like that ... and now they were both fully aware of what they had to work with.

When the time came to that.

Shifting on his feet, Chuck pulled free with a half-murmur, or something of a quiet gasp. He put a hand on Casey’s cheek, a tender touch that the agent suspected he hadn’t felt in a while, and made eye contact. “You’re tense,” Chuck said, and he had to laugh a little. “Don’t tell me I make you nervous when I do that.”

“Trust me. It would take more than a frisky nerd to make me nervous,” Casey told him, straightening a little. Though he could feel shock and surprise slowly working its way through his system, he wasn’t about to let the kid in on that secret. “Just make sure you keep the door locked from now on.”

Chuck smiled and poked him in the shoulder. “I already did.”

“But you forgot the window,” a female voice said.

They jerked away from each other and turned to see Sarah reclining against the window sill, arms crossed over her shirt. That know-it-all smirk told Casey she had been there long enough to see their asset trying to round first base with his handler.

And, damnit, she was going to have a little fun with that.

“I have to say, Major, I don’t know what happened to you last night, but I do like the way you’ve warmed up to this assignment.”

“You need to learn to knock, CIA. Or better yet, call ahead so we can tell you to buzz off.”

Chuck raised his hand. “Um, unless it’s a matter of national security. Then, duty calls. And, wow, I can’t believe I’m explaining that to John Cas –”

“Holy – where did you get that?” Sarah took a step forward, not moving from Chuck’s path. “Is that a Medal of Honor?”

“Know anyone else who deserves it more than him?” Casey asked.

The question made Sarah pull up short. She thought about it only for a second before grinning. “No, I can’t. But ... Casey, you can’t give him your MOH. That’s ... wow.”

Casey shrugged and tried not to look too badass when he growled, “Who said I only have one?”

Both Walker and the nerd turned to gawk at him.

Casey lifted a shoulder.

“I guess that settles it,” Sarah said, and then turned to Chuck. “Nice gift. Don’t let your sister see it.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ve been briefed on that.” Chuck gave her a sarcastic salute. “I’ll put it back right now.”

To Casey’s relief, he took the medal and stuffed it back in the box, ending the conversation there. “We should get back to the party. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

“They already know where you are,” Sarah said, smiling unapologetically. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? I was in the kitchen, but I could hear everything. When a boyfriend takes his partner to the bedroom on Christmas to give him a gift, it usually means one thing.”

“So they think we’re– oh, God.” Chuck scrubbed a hand over his face. “We should get back in there.”

“Wait,” Casey said and he halted the kid with a hand around his waist. “If that’s what they think, I don’t want you rushing out of here after ten lousy minutes.”

“Ten – what?”

“I have a reputation. Gotta make it at least an hour now, Bartowski.”

Chuck turned a nice shade of crimson, while Walker just lifted a brow.

“Here we go,” Casey said, thumbing through the records. “Neil Diamond to set the mood.”

“Really? Great. So, uh, I guess we’ll just hang out here for ... a while?”

Sarah bumped Casey with a shoulder. “I should sneak back in, but I ... had one thing to say to Casey that I couldn’t say out there.”

“What is it, Walker?”

Sarah cast one glace at Chuck before strolling up to her partner. She had to tilt her head in order to meet his eyes. Gone was any amusement. In its place was a deadly serious blue gaze. “I’m glad you’re staying,” she said. “Chuck isn’t the only one who needs you.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn’t cringe or back away. Maybe it was her way of saying old school ways weren’t dead after all; more important were things like loyalty and honor.

“Me, too,” Casey replied and then added carefully, “We have a good team here.”

Walker pursed her lips and nodded at him. “We do.” She held out her hand and Casey only looked at it for a second before giving her a handshake that could bring Marines to their knees. That bitch didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch. Damn, he did like her.

Chuck, gravitating to a mushy moment like a nerd to a comic book, moved between them and laid his hand on both of theirs. “If we’re being honest here, I never thought it was worth it – the thing with Bryce, getting the Intersect – but I wouldn’t have met you two.” The kid gamely put a smile on and for the first time in a long while, he looked relaxed. “So maybe it was supposed to happen.”

“Maybe someone had a plan,” Casey agreed. Spirits and Murley aside, maybe something bigger.

“Hey, go team.”

“Go team,” Sarah echoed, smiling at both of them. Chuck’s hand slipped ever so lightly around Casey’s hip where the flesh over his jeans could be touched. Somehow, Casey didn’t jolt that time. Considering the commitment he’d just made, he supposed that was a good thing.

“And no matter what,” Chuck said, “we’ll be safe, and off to face the next adventure. Together.”

Shit.

“Sooner than you think, stud,” Casey replied. He didn’t have the heart to tell them yet, but sometime tonight, he was going to have to fill them in. The first adventure would start in the snowy Midwest tomorrow evening.

-x- End All We Leave Behind Us –x-


End file.
